The Edge of the Ocean
by Pretentiously Betwixt
Summary: Cate is the daughter of First Officer Will Murdoch, on her way to fulfill her duties as a socialite, inherited by her wealthy mother. She thinks she has a dull, loveless life ahead until she meets Sixth Officer James Moody, whom her father has forbidden her to see. Will they be able to be together or will fate ultimately pull them apart?
1. Chapter One

**The Edge of the Ocean**

 **Chapter One**

 _Thursday, April 4, 1912_

The letter had been read so many times that, though it had originally been folded, it now lay flat on the dark oak of the writing desk, the elegantly written words now a blur behind the veil of tears that threatened to fall from the young woman's eyes. She turned away from the letter, the desk, and the window that overlooked the long, dirt drive that wound down the long field and through a thicket of trees leading, eventually, to the main road. With an impatient swipe at her tears with the back of her hand, she picked up the letter without really looking at it, placing it unceremoniously in the ornate box beside it. When she saw, however, that it didn't quite fit, the edges of the heavy parchment paper hanging over the side, the young woman picked it back up and, in a fit of burning hot rage, tore it cleanly in two and then again so that the four remaining pieces fit quite neatly into one of the little compartments of the Chinese sewing box.

"Miss Catharine?"

The voice of the handmaid startled her from her thoughts. She quickly shut the lid of the box and turned to the bedroom door as it opened, her hands behind her back like a child who had been caught sneaking biscuits from the jar. The maid, Esther, however, did not look remotely suspicious as she walked in with two large, flat boxes.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss," she said briskly, placing the boxes on the closed lid of the brown steamer trunk, "but Mrs. Murray finally found the last two boxes. They were in Miss Lillian's room, which explains why we had such a time finding them. You've got everything you'll want?" Esther straightened up in her task of placing the two large, wide-brimmed hats in their delicate tissue-paper wrappings and looked at Catharine, who still stood guiltily before the desk.

Instead of answering her question, rather preferring to put off their inevitable departure just a little longer, Catharine fiddled with the long sleeve of her white glove.

"I do wish you would call me Cate," she said, trying to make sure her voice stayed light and airy. "Honestly, Esther, no one calls me Catharine except my grandparents and no one calls me 'Miss' except the milkman."

"Oh, I couldn't, Miss," Esther replied cheerfully, placing the lids over the boxes once more. "If it would please you, though, I could call you Miss Cate as a compromise."

"I suppose that will do," Cate said at last, although smiling slightly at Esther's infectious good spirits. "You make me feel far grander than I am."

"I don't know if that's the case, Miss Cath—Cate." Esther corrected herself quickly. "I would imagine there are great many people who would dare to call you the grandest lady they've ever laid eyes upon."

Now Cate laughed. "Esther, you flatter me," she said. Her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the small mirror that had been fixed to the wall some years ago, now so far in the past that it seemed like it had always been there. With her hair pinned just so and the long, lavender dress that reached the floor, covering the corset that restricted her every breath and the layers upon layers of petticoats and underthings, Cate felt like a prim doll, one that could be found high on the shelf of her grandmother's parlor, looking down imperiously at all who entered. Such a thing surely did not belong in the humble cottage nestled in the Scottish hillside.

"Where's my Sunflower?" A man's voice boomed from downstairs, causing both women to start, their conversation halted. Esther looked questioningly at Cate, who smiled.

"It's my grandfather," she explained. Although as quickly as her smile and elation at hearing his voice had come, they vanished; Samuel Murdoch's presence meant that the time had come for her to leave the cottage at last.

Nevertheless, in spite of her growing dread, Cate left her bedroom and walked down the stairs to where her father's father waited in the small sitting room, examining a painting that hung over the mantle, painted by some artist whose name Cate didn't know, given to her father some time she couldn't remember. It seemed hard to believe that anything in the cottage had been different or changed from the way it was now, as if all of the mirrors, and paintings, and rugs, and china, and furniture had simply appeared there the day they moved in when Cate was a little girl.

When he heard her footsteps, Samuel turned around and smiled widely, his light eyes taking in her elegant, albeit uncomfortable, appearance.

"Look at my little Sunflower," he said, holding his arms wide. "You've truly blossomed, lass."

Cate hurried forward to receive his embrace as quickly as her garments permitted. As she stood in his arms, she breathed in, taking in the smell of the sea and pipe tobacco, knowing it would be a long time before she smelled them again.

"Hello, Papa," she said softly, her eyes remaining closed.

They stood there for a moment before, finally, Samuel cleared his throat and pulled away, picked up his hat from the mantle and placing it back onto his head.

"We'd best be hurrying, lass," he said. "Your Uncle James and Uncle Sam are waiting outside. They've come to help," he added when he saw her questioning look.

Her father's elder and younger brother worked quickly, dragging down her two large steamer trunks and placing them in the carriage, as well as the seemingly endless pile of hat- and coat boxes. Cate watched from beside the old writing desk as her bedroom was slowly taken apart, leaving only the barest pieces of furniture and her Chinese sewing box.

"That's everything, lass," said her Uncle James as he entered the room one last time. "We'd best get a move on if we want to get you to the train station before nightfall."

Cate nodded once, her jaw clenched shut as she turned and picked up the ornate box, her hands now shaking as she held it. She was screaming inside, begging silently to stay nestled under her bedclothes, but no sound emerged. Instead, she dutifully followed her uncle downstairs, said goodbye to Mrs. Murray in the kitchen, and sat beside Esther in the back of the carriage, the world once more blurred by tears.

* * *

"Oh, my dear Catey."

Cate found herself enfolded in her grandmother's arms the moment she stepped down from the carriage. Unlike Samuel, Jane said nothing about her granddaughter's beautiful dress or her gloves. She saw nothing, it seemed, but the little girl with the dirt-stained cheeks and the scraped knees coming to bring her a sloppy bouquet of wildflowers.

"I'm going to miss you, Nana," Cate whispered, wishing she could keep her voice from breaking as it did.

"And I you, my little Sunflower," said Jane as she straightened up, reaching up to wipe the stray tears from her granddaughter's cheeks with her thumbs, calloused from a long life of hard work. "But don't think of this as a goodbye, Catey. Think of it as a 'see you soon.' The green hills of Scotland will be waiting to welcome you home soon enough."

The rest of Cate's family gathered slowly, all come to say farewell to their niece and cousin. She embraced each one of them, wishing she could hold on and never let go. Even little Thomas, the six-year-old who claimed he didn't like anyone, cried as he held onto his cousin's skirts, begging her not to go to "'Merica with them fancy people." Cate managed to hold in her own tears until her cousin Gwendolyn, who was only a few months younger than she, approached, her cheeks already tearstained, a look of resigned sadness upon her face.

Growing up, the two girls had been inseparable, getting into all sorts of mischief with one another. They ran through the woods and pretended to be little Indian girls, and rolled down the green hills, and swam in the ponds. As they grew older, they maintained that they would find two handsome brothers to marry and have a joint wedding, both girls wearing crowns of twisted wildflowers like the ones they had made as children. Their laughter, as if from another life, echoed in Cate's ears as she hugged her cousin.

"You write to me," Gwen said fiercely as they parted. "I mean it, Cate Murdoch. I don't care if you marry the President himself, you don't forget your family here in Dalbeattie."

Little Thomas cried even harder as Samuel gently pried Cate away and led her back to the carriage. Esther watched from her seat, her eyes glistening, her hands clasped in her lap, feeling like she had stumbled upon a scene of mourning to which she did not belong. Cate's family—her grandmother, her eight aunts and uncles, her eight cousins, and several childhood friends from the village—called out different goodbyes and wishes as Samuel flicked the reins and the carriage rattled off down the road. Cate turned back to wave at all of them, waving and crying in unison, until the carriage rounded a bend and her grandparents' cottage disappeared from view.

* * *

"Are you alright, Miss?"

Esther's soft question startled Cate from her thoughts and she quickly lifted her forehead from where it had been resting on the rattling windowpane and sat up straight, smoothing out some wrinkles in her dress. She tore her gaze from the black countryside as it rushed past, the steam engine screaming in the night.

"Yes," Cate lied quickly, plastering a smile onto her face, "quite alright."

But though the two women had only known each other for a short time, Esther saw through Cate as easily as if she were made of glass.

"There's no shame in being sad, Miss Cate," Esther said quietly, lowering her voice so the other passengers in the compartment—a large old woman and her heavily-mustached husband—couldn't hear, "or missing your home. It's a hard thing you've done, to be sure."

Cate looked at her, the forced smile slowly fading. "Do you miss your home, Esther?" As soon as she said these words, however, she regretted it; what if she made Esther sad or homesick?

But Esther smiled. "Of course, Miss," she said. "I miss England every day, as well as my mum and dad, and my little brother. But I don't regret emigrating to America; I've made a good life for myself, which is more than a lot of people can say." She paused and looked at the window, able to see her reflection more than the landscape outside. "It seems hard to believe that that's England herself right out there, doesn't it?"

The sky began to lighten as the train slowed, pulling into the station for the final time. Cate, who dozed fitfully with her head resting once again on the window, was woken gently by Esther as the conductor called out their arrival in Southampton. She rose to her feet as Esther picked up two of the most delicate hat boxes that had been deemed too fragile to be placed with the cargo. In her own hands she carried the Chinese sewing box. Once they had stepped down onto the platform, Esther immediately made it her business to locate the rest of the luggage. She wandered off toward the cargo hold, leaving Cate to stand alone, feeling foolish with her ornate box and an air of complete uncertainty.

Southampton was chilly, a light breeze blowing and mingling with the steam billowing from the train. Passengers swarmed around her, greeting their loved ones, gathering their luggage, calling out goodbyes to others whom they had met during the long voyage. As she stood there, she began to feel quite overwhelmed, though she had been in Southampton and on that very platform many times. But Lillian had always been with her and now, standing by herself, she felt quite thrust into adulthood and even farther away from Dalbeattie than ever, though she had not even left the continent yet. The hotel she and Esther would be staying in, the South Western, loomed above them, right next to the railway platform. Cate knew most people would have left their maid and other servants to sort out the luggage while they went to check in and relax in their rooms, but she felt rooted to the spot until Esther returned.

"—sets sail in just five days!"

A snatch from someone's conversation reached Cate's ears and she froze, suddenly realizing for the first time that somewhere in the sprawling city of Southampton, whether already on his ship or perhaps in one of the many buildings, was her father. Where was he? Was he thinking of her? Did he realize that she had arrived? Cate looked around automatically, almost expecting to see him approach from the train's fog like a ghost, though deep down she knew better, knew he would be too busy, having said so in a letter he sent last week, a letter so different from the one she had torn to pieces.

"I shall meet you at your hotel at noon," he had written at the end of the long letter, the tail of his y's curling in the exact way hers did when she wrote, though she wrote with her left hand he his right. Her fingertips had traced the thin lines of his signature, lingering over the surname that she still used in Dalbeattie but had long since shed whenever she left her country's borders.

* * *

 _Friday, April 5, 1912_

The bedroom door was closed, but she could still hear Esther bustling about, putting away a few things into the wardrobe that she thought Cate might like to wear over the next few days. The four-poster bed had thick, velvet hangings that blocked out the bright light from the large window and its lacy curtains, but as hard as she tried, Cate could not sleep. The ticking of the clock in the corner seemed incredibly loud, louder than Esther's footsteps and humming to herself, positively screaming the seconds away. Cate nearly jumped out of her skin when it chimed nine o'clock.

At ten, after lying there restlessly for an hour, she finally gave up and rose, shaking her long hair down her back and pulling on a dressing gown. It had been such a relief to shed her dress and corset like they were a second skin and collapse onto the soft mattress, throwing the drapes around her bed closed and ignoring the world, awaiting the blissful unawareness of sleep. Of course, that hadn't happened, and now, feeling no more rested and even more tired than before, she called her maid's name blearily.

Esther was there a moment later, a yellow dress draped over her arm, having agreed on that particular one before Cate went to lie down. It was with much reluctance that she shed her dressing gown and allowed herself to be laced up into the corset, clutching the bedpost for support and trying not to think about the fact that she was getting dressed up for a man who would have preferred to still see her as the little girl from Dalbeattie. When she was all wrapped up in the yellow dress with the long sleeves and white, decorative lace, Esther seated her at the vanity and began artfully styling her hair, keeping it in place with pearl pins.

"You have the most beautiful hair, Miss Cate," said Esther as she worked, her fingers moving deftly. "It's like spun gold."

"Honey, my Nana called it," Cate said, her eyes lingering on the long, golden strands in the mirror before focusing on some spot in the room behind her. "She was always calling Lillian and me 'The Girls with the Honey Hair.'" She paused and sighed. "Or some such nonsense."

"I don't think it's nonsense, Miss," Esther said quietly. "And I don't think you do, either."

"No, I don't suppose I do," said Cate. "Perhaps it's easier to pretend that I do, though." She was silent for a moment before continuing. "When Lillian and I were little, four or five years old maybe, I remember arguing with her about the color of our hair; I said it was the color of straw and Lillian said it was the color of sunshine. So we asked Nana who was right, and so Nana took us on her knees and told us a story. She said we were born with hair as dark as our Aunt Maggie's. When we were still very new, not long after our father brought us to Scotland, he left the window open in the room where Lillian and I were sleeping. In the night, she said, little fairies came in and blessed us, laying their little golden hands upon our heads and whispering that we would both be good girls who would live long, happy lives and be loved and strong." Cate paused. "Nana said that when our father came to us the next morning, our dark hair had turned golden like honey from the touch of the fairies."

Esther smiled. "That's beautiful, Miss."

Cate could not help but return her smile. "It did not, however, answer our question," she said, "something Lillian and I realized only a month later."

When Cate's honey-colored hair was pinned perfectly in place, she rose from the low stool in front of the vanity and glanced at the clock again. Still an hour to go. She followed Esther into the sitting room and walked out through the double French doors, which had been opened onto the balcony, a light breeze rustling the curtains. Southampton, a stark contrast to the quiet village of Dalbeattie, was alive with people, sights, and sounds. Everywhere she looked were people walking, calling to one another, stopping to buy a newspaper, or to climb into a carriage, or to look longingly to the window of a shop. Southampton seemed to be the center of the world that day.

Having stayed at this particular hotel many times in the past, Cate looked to the left where she knew the pier was, but she could see nothing of interest. She assumed that other guests on the left side of the hotel (which was built on a corner and thus presented two sides of Southampton: its bustling city and its docks) had a marvelous view of the pier and, most likely, its celebrated occupant. Indeed, the concierge had sounded rather apologetic when he informed Cate where her room was located, even more so when he learned that she, along with many other guests in the South Western Hotel, was due to sail to America aboard the R.M.S. _Titanic_ in five days' time.

Cate moved restlessly about the suite, smoothing her dress, walking back and forth from the balcony to the sitting room, to her bedroom, to the wardrobe. Esther watched her apprehensively, the pot of tea she had boiled forgotten on its silver tray by the chaise. At five minutes until noon, Cate returned to the balcony, looking down at the passerby and wondering if she would be able spot her father yet knowing simultaneously that he would be most likely be coming from the direction of the pier. Still, she couldn't help but search for the honey hair that matched hers, the dark uniform of a ship's officer, the blue eyes she wouldn't be able to see from such a height anyway….

"How long has it been since you've seen your father, Miss?" Esther asked, walking out onto the balcony beside her.

Cate thought a moment. "It's been since the summer of last year," she said at last. "He wasn't able to return for Christmas this past year. But Lillian hasn't seen him since the year before since she decided to stay in Philadelphia."

Esther smiled. "You must be excited to see him."

Cate looked at her. For a moment, she was almost tempted to deny any such thing, to say that seeing her father meant very little to her, if anything at all. After all, that's what Lillian's response would have been, always cool and collected, refusing to show her true emotions. But when had Cate ever wanted to be like her sister?

"I am rather," she admitted, a smile creeping onto her lips. "I can't believe how long it's been. I wonder—"

But what she was wondering, Esther did not get to find out, for at that moment, there was a sharp knock upon the main door of the suite. Both women froze, their eyes widening, the maid seeming to momentarily forget what she was to do now that that highly anticipated moment had arrived. The noise from the streets was extinguished as Cate stared at the door, dimly aware that she was shaking. To steady herself, she stumbled back into the suite, clutching the back of the chaise for support as Esther scurried to answer the door.

It might not be him, Cate reminded herself, her own voice in her head sounding extremely far off in the distance, muddled underneath the pounding of her heart. I mustn't get my hopes up.

Time seemed to slow as the door was finally opened. Cate had imagined the reunion with her father countless times over the past few months and even more over the past few days, hours, and minutes. In these questioning visions, she had sometimes remained haughty and aloof, her face cold and impassive. In others, she had rushed into his arms without letting him say even a word of greeting, dissolving into a puddle of tears. Then, finally, after waiting for so long and wondering so often how she would act, she got the chance to find out.

Her father stood in the doorway, looking just as she remembered him. Will Murdoch was a tall man, dressed impeccably in a dark uniform with brass buttons and golden accents, the White Star Line crest displayed on his hat, the long sleeves of his jacket ending with two golden, looped braids. Their eyes, the same light blue, met and everything else seemed to melt around them. Will smiled and stepped into the suite.

"Catey."

Everything—the letter, leaving Dalbeattie, everything that had happened over the past few months—welled up within her at the sound of her father's voice. When she was little and her father had to leave on long voyages while she and Lillian were home from school, she would cry herself to sleep. Tears on account of her father had long since dried up, and Cate had told herself that she had spent too much time crying over the aching feeling his absences left, that she would never cry over him again, working hard to seal her emotions into a bottle and cast them away. Lillian was so good at that, becoming a mask and hiding what she actually felt. But Cate didn't want to be like Lillian.

Any dignity befitting an nineteen-year-old debutante was whisked away as Cate hurried across the room and launched herself into her father's waiting arms. For a moment, she was transported back to Scotland and was six years old again being swung into the air as she ran to meet him outside their cottage. Will held her close, his embrace strong and warm, quelling any ill feelings she might ever have had towards him.

"I've missed you, Da," she whispered.

"I've missed you, too, lass. You've no idea how much."

Cate didn't know how long they stood there. At some point, she heard Esther hurry away, presumably to give the father and daughter some privacy and, perhaps, to make another pot of tea. Eventually, though, Cate stepped away, thankfully not needing to dry her eyes. Will took a moment to look at her, the younger of his twin daughters, identical to her sister and yet so inexplicably different at the same time.

"You look beautiful, Catey," he said. "You grow more beautiful each time I see you."

"Imagine how I shall look when I am a hundred, then," Cate teased, yet knowing at the same time that it was strange for her father to see her in such an ensemble, not a hair out of place, wearing a dress that probably cost more than their whole cottage back in Dalbeattie.

"Positively radiant, I'm sure," Will chuckled.

There was a slight pause. Her father removed his hat, revealing the same blond hair, though his was streaked with just a hint of gray, his face a bit more lined than the last time she had seen him. But his smile was the same, his blue eyes twinkling the way they always did. As he placed his hat on the back of the chaise, Esther returned to the sitting room with a new tray topped with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.

"Thank you, Esther," Cate said quickly, suddenly remembering to be a good hostess. "Da, this is Esther, my handmaid. Esther, this is my father, Officer William Murdoch."

Esther gave a short curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you, sir," she said, her eyes lowered. When she looked up and saw, however, that he had his hand out to shake hers, her eyes widened. Nevertheless, she shook his hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Esther," said Will.

As they sat down across from one another, each with a cup of tea and a saucer in hand, Cate struggled to think of things to say. What were they supposed to talk about? The weather? The _Titanic_? Scotland? No, that would be too painful, probably for both of them.

"How long have you had a lady's maid?" Will asked as Esther left once more, his eyes on her back.

"Since mid-March," Cate replied, stirring the tea absently with a small spoon. "She was sent over from Philadelphia to assist me on the voyage. Apparently she was Lillian's maid before—the poor girl."

As expected, Will suddenly became stern. He looked at her in the same way he always did when one of his daughters said something unkind about her sister, which was a good majority of the time. Though he himself had four siblings, Will had always gotten along capitally with all of them. Thus, he had never been able to understand why two sisters, twins even, would fight and bicker so often, even seem to truly dislike one another.

This time, though, Will seemed to see that it would be fruitless to scold her, so he merely sighed and shook his head a bit.

"Interesting that you should need a maid this time," he remarked. "I don't recall you and Lillian ever needing one during your previous voyages."

Cate shrugged a bit. "She and I were there to assist each other," she replied, "albeit rather unwillingly. Now that I'm alone, Esther's help is greatly appreciated. I didn't realize I would need a maid until I attempted to sail back to Scotland last year without Lillian."

"How is she?" Will asked, setting his teacup onto its saucer, emitting the tiniest chink of glass hitting glass. "We write occasionally, but I haven't heard from her since I received the wedding invitation."

Will's tone had suddenly grown bitter and Cate could understand why: Lillian had been off in her own world since deciding to remain permanently in Philadelphia, communicating with her family on the other side of the ocean only to announce her engagement to a Mr. Daniel Norcross and to invite them to the wedding in late April. (Truthfully, Cate had been a bit surprised that Lillian had remembered to invite her paternal family at all.)

"Neither have I," Cate replied dryly. "And she and I correspond even less frequently." She, too, set down her teacup with another light clink.

"I assume you're attending the wedding?" Will asked. "I imagine that's why you're traveling to the United States two months earlier than normal, isn't it?"

Cate nodded. "Yes," she said vaguely. "That's why."

At the mention of the impending voyage, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Will watched Cate staring blankly at the still-open French doors, now appearing as far away as New York itself, completely lost in her thoughts.

"Have you seen the ship yet?" Will decided to change tact, to bring her back to the present.

Cate turned back to him. "No," she said. "We only arrived this morning, and, as you can see, the balcony faces in the opposite direction."

Will smiled. "Would you like to?"

It took a small bit of coercing, Cate insisting she could see the ship when she boarded, but eventually Will managed to convince her to accompany him, saying he wanted to give her a tour before it was filled with people. After telling Esther that she was going out, she took the arm that her father offered and allowed herself to be led from the suite, down the lift, through the magnificent marble lobby, and out onto the street.

The air of Southampton was salty with the breath of the sea, the same breeze billowing lightly. The streets were as crowded as ever, but Will and Cate navigated them easily, heading across the road and down to the docks. Cate was so busy looking at all of the people on the pier, some of them workers and some merely sight-seers, that she did not see the ship until Will stopped and patted her hand, which rested on his arm.

Rising above them, looming like a palace of iron and glass, was the largest ship in the world. It was so tall that Cate had to tip her head back to see the top of the black and red-painted funnels, three of which belched black smoke into the air. It was so long that she had to turn her head to see the whole thing from its pointed bow, the words "TITANIC" painted in white on the sides, its windows glinting in the sunlight, countless round portholes, its wooden, white lifeboats perched on the top deck, all the way back to the rounded stern.

"Oh, my," Cate breathed, positively captivated by this floating marvel. "It's incredible."

"You know, she's only a little bit longer than the _Olympic_ ," Will said teasingly, speaking of the Titanic's elder sister ship.

"I've never even seen the _Olympic_ ," Cate reminded him, still gazing at the ship. "Lillian and I usually sailed on smaller liners."

"Would you like a tour?"

Cate looked at him, her eyes wide. "What? she sputtered. "But passengers aren't to board for another five days."

Will smiled. "I've already asked the skipper for permission," he said. "It's perfectly alright."

Still apprehensive and not altogether reassured, Cate nodded at last and took her father's arm once more, heading toward the great ship, soon completely covered in its shadow.


	2. Chapter Two

**Thank you to all those who have read, reviewed, favorited, and/or followed! Your support means the world to me! -PB**

 **Chapter Two**

 _Friday, April 5, 1912_

The only gangway door that was open seemed to lead to the lower bowels of the ship. The others were shut tightly, not to be opened until the tenth, when passengers would embark. Will led the way through the workers, the sight-seers, various automobiles, and everything else, winding their way to the long plank. There was only one person standing at the end of the walkway, a local constable there to prevent the public from boarding. When Will and Cate approached, however, the policeman merely nodded as they passed.

"Are you sure about this?" Cate asked as they walked up the gangway to one of the lowest decks of the ship. They were already in her shadow, completely dwarfed by the iron beast.

"Of course, Catey," Will assured her once more, stepping through the large, rounded door.

Immediately before them was a mass of confusing walls and corridors, their footsteps echoing on the reddish flooring beneath them. The odor of fresh paint was strong, almost overwhelming. It struck her then just how new the ship was; she had never before sailed on a ship's maiden voyage. Cate could see perfectly in her mind's eye the area filled with third-class passengers, most of them immigrants, crowding in from the gangway after having passed their health inspections, looking for their cabins, making sure they kept track of their loved ones. After taking a few steps forward, an impossibly long corridor opened up to their right, stretching so far down the ship that they could not see where it ended.

"This is Scotland Road," said Will. "It provides the crew easier access to different parts of the ship. Though third-class passengers will have access to it, as well."

"You certainly seem to know your way around already," Cate remarked, peering down the corridor. How big this ship had seemed just looking it from the outside and now to be inside and not be able to even see the other end of a single corridor!

"It's my job," Will replied, unmistakable pride in his voice. "A fine thing it would be for the ship's First Officer to get lost on his vessel."

Cate stopped looking down Scotland Road and looked at her father instead.

"First Officer?" she repeated. "You said in your letter that you were to be the Chief Officer."

There was something bitter in Will's smile. "Ah, well," he said, looking down at the sleeves of his uniform which, Cate now realized, were decorated with two golden loops instead of three, a clear sign of his demotion, "things change, as you well know. Captain Smith saw fit to reinstate his friend Henry Wilde as Chief Officer for the voyage. I was moved down to first, Charles Lightoller to Second, and David Blair was removed entirely."

"That hardly seems fair," Cate said as they began walking forward, down Scotland Road.

Now Will chuckled. "Life is rarely fair, lass," he said, "as I'm sure you've noticed. But no matter; once we reach Southampton again, I will be reinstated as Chief Officer. The captain just wanted Wilde here for the maiden voyage."

They walked straight ahead, the long corridor much different than Cate would have pictured the grandest ship in the world; the floor was comprised of long, wooden planks with parallel vents with circular holes on either side, the walls were white and unremarkable, and the ceiling a bundle of long tubing and pipes. A small bit of steam rose here and there from the vents, which, Will explained, was due to their close proximity to the boilers.

"I can't imagine how I shall ever find my way around," said Cate.

"You needn't worry about ever getting lost below decks," said Will. "First-class passengers will rarely need to descend lower than D Deck."

After walking a good distance, thy turned right through a narrow door. Immediately, it was as if they left one entire building for another. The white walls were gone in the immediate area, replaced with a darker, pine paneling. Instead of the long planks of wood and parallel vents making up the floors, there was elegant, black and white tiles. To their left was a single staircase with a polished banister and a large painting mounted on the wall of the landing. On the right, mounted on the wall was a placard saying "E DECK." Rather than the harsh light of the lamps on Scotland Road, smaller lamps, rather like miniature chandeliers, were spaced out on the ceiling, giving out a hazier, golden glow.

Will, taking his daughter's arm again, led the way up the stairs and to the right, up another short set of stairs. They found themselves in a large room, a wooden grand piano opposite them, countless pieces of wicker furniture with green accents spaced all throughout the room. On the wall to their left was, just like the one below, a placard reading "D DECK."

"This is the first-class reception room," said Will, pausing to let her look around. "I imagine you'll spend a good deal of time here before dinner."

Cate didn't point out that, after as many voyages upon which she and Lillian had sailed, she knew perfectly the function of such a room. Just like before, she could imagine the room filled with people, although now, instead of immigrants excited to start a new life, with aristocrats and millionaires clutching glasses of wine and champagne, dressed in gowns and tailcoats, handlebar mustaches and top hats, chuckling about polo matches and the state of the American economy.

"Have I lost you, lass?"

Startled from her thoughts, Cate smiled sheepishly. Will laughed and patted her hand, which rested on his arm.

"Ever my little dreamer," he said. Cate could tell he was relieved that, underneath the perfectly pinned hair, the long, yellow dress, the first-class ticket, was the same girl he had always known, the one who always got lost in her thoughts and had to be brought back in like she was lost at sea.

After taking one last look at the reception room, they turned and walked up another set of stairs to C Deck, and then up to B Deck. By this time, Cate was starting to wonder if they would ever reach fresh air again, or if they had somehow stumbled upon a form of purgatory, sentenced to walk up the same stairs again and again. When she said this aloud, Cate expected him to laugh, as he might have before. But instead he stopped and looked annoyed and disapproving.

"Cate," he said, shaking his head. "You're on the RMS _Titanic_ mere days before she sets sail and all you care about is how many stairs you have to climb?"

Cate was taken aback, not only by his abrupt disapproval, but also by the fact that he had not called her "Catey." She couldn't help but think that he had changed, that the father she knew would have laughed at her joke. But now she was being scolded like she was a child. She hadn't meant her complaint seriously, of course, but how could he expect her to truly feel grateful about what lay ahead? Did he even know? Part of her wanted to argue with a sharp retort, but the more trained part of her resisted. So, instead, she said nothing and continued up the stairs. Will resisted for a moment, but with her hand still on his arm, he had no choice but to follow her.

When they arrived at A Deck, however, Cate stopped. Her eyes widened at the sight before her: a beautiful, ornate clock carved in wood was on the wall above the next set of stairs. In the center of the staircase, which started off narrow at the landing and widened as it descended like all of the other stairs they had climbed, was a fairly tall statue of a cherub with a lighting fixture atop it. As she looked around in awe, Will patted his daughter's hand and pointed upward. Cate did as she was told and raised her eyes up, an audible gasp escaping her lips when the great, glass dome came into view. Light flooded in through the glass, seeming to set the whole room ablaze.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "I can hardly believe we're on a ship."

Will chuckled, their earlier dispute apparently forgotten. "I should believe it soon, lass," he said, patting the hand that still rested on his arm. "You'll have naught but five days to come to terms with it."

Will's words were loaded with hidden meaning, whether he knew it or not. Cate suspected he did not know, which brought to light the reason as to why he had been so casual the whole time when Cate felt herself that she was as tightly wound as a coil. She was tempted to reveal what was laying so heavily on her heart, but her father was so excited to see her and so pleased to show her around the ship that she couldn't bear to cast a gloom over the meeting with shouting and tears, which was the inevitable result of such a discussion. So she smiled benignly and allowed him to lead her up this grand staircase.

They arrived at the top of the whole staircase into a sort of large sitting room. Through the tall windows before them, Cate could see what she recognized as white lifeboats. In fact, until they grew closer to the door leading out to the boat deck, that was all she could see through the windowpanes. Eventually, though, the view gave way to the deck itself and another boat right in front of the one before them. The moment they stepped outside, they were startled by a sudden rush of cold air, having been spoilt by the warmth of the ship's interior.

As they continued to their left, further up the boat deck, Cate chanced a glance at her father. He was a good deal taller than she, probably within an inch of her grandfather's height, and looked strong and confident in his officer's uniform. He had been a sailor for as long as she could remember, craving a life on the sea just like his father, who was a captain. Even after his daughters had been born, he couldn't stay away from the ocean for too long and use the long occasions of their being away at school to withdraw from land and to slide along the ocean. Sometimes his voyages didn't bring him back in time to see his girls before their holiday ended, and for a long time Cate had been bitter towards him for it. Perhaps she still was, but she no longer any purpose in antagonizing him for it.

"Where are we going now, Da?" Cate asked as they strolled along the deck towards the bow of the ship.

"The Bridge," said Will. "I'd like to show you where I'll be spending most of my time."

Cate halted in her tracks. "What?" she said, alarmed. "The Bridge? But… are you sure that's appropriate, Da, me being a passenger and all?"

Will looked down at her and smiled. Cate was conscious of the fact that she was sounding more and more like his "little Catey" rather than "Miss Catharine" the more time they spent together. She slowly began to lose her careful refinements that years of boarding school and many summers with her grandparents in the United States had taught her. On one hand, Cate didn't understand why she did keep up such pretenses in front of her father; she sat up straight, daintily tapped the corners of her mouth with her napkin, pinned her hat just so, and spoke like a posh lady from Oxford, not the free-spirited lass from the hills of Scotland that Will knew her to be.

"It's fine, Catey," he said, patting her reassuringly on the arm. "I told you earlier, I got permission from the Skipper to show you around."

So Cate gave him a small, nervous smile and walked with him further up the boat deck. As they grew closer to the end of the deck, they begun to hear muffled voices from inside the Bridge, a place Cate had never been during any of her voyages to and from Philadelphia. She'd never had the opportunity, after all; this was the first time she was to sail on a ship where her father would be working. Growing up, Cate had always struggled with being shy and timid; it was something with which Lillian could never relate and therefore had led to endless teasing. But as nervous as she was to go to the Bridge and meet her father's colleagues, she was not about to refuse and pull away, disappointing and possibly angering him. The voices grew louder as they drew closer and, suddenly, they were there. As Will and Cate turned left onto the Bridge, the conversation stopped.

The first thing Cate noticed was the great, shining wheel in the center of the room, just like the ones featured in drawings from _Peter Pan_. The second thing she saw was the three men staring from her to Will, though none looked unpleasant in his gaze. The man in the center, with a white beard and kind eyes, Cate knew immediately, had to be the Captain. His cap, unlike Will's, was adorned with golden laurels along the brim, covering snowy white hair. He also had medals pinned to his coat, the sleeves of which were looped with four golden braids.

"Sir," said Will, immediately standing up perfectly straight and taking his arm from Cate's, "may I introduce my daughter, Catharine Alton. Cate, this is Captain Edward James Smith."

Captain Smith smiled warmly and stepped forward to kiss Cate's hand. Neither he nor the other officer showed any sort of surprise at Will's daughter having a different surname than he.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alton," he said, his light eyes twinkling. "Will has spoken of nothing but you since we left Belfast."

Cate smiled. Already she liked this man. "It is an honor to meet you, sir," she said.

"Might you be related to the Viscount Cowanshire?" Captain Smith asked. "Adam Alton? He was raised in England, I believe, but now he lives in—"

"Philadelphia," Cate finished for him. She saw that her father's smile had become rather fixed. "Yes, sir. He is my … maternal grandfather." She made sure to put a bit more emphasis on the word "maternal."

"Please give him my regards," said Captain Smith, after which Cate assured him that she would.

The other man, Will told Cate, was Sixth Officer James Moody. For half a moment, Cate was worried about how to greet him; she had been taught by her formidable maternal grandmother, Beth, that it was a man's job to kiss a lady's hand, especially if she was of a higher status than he; it was a gesture that would, apparently, be very prominent when she began courting. Captain Smith, her superior, had showed great respect by kissing her hand, a gesture he had instigated (though it was usually the lady's job), but Cate did not much feel like holding her hand out to Mr. Moody and offering it to him to kiss, especially since he seemed to be much closer to her in age. So, swallowing her shyness, Cate decided to be bold.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moody," she said confidently, holding out her right hand for him to shake.

Mr. Moody smiled and shook her hand firmly. "And I you, Miss Alton," he said. "As Captain Smith said, we have heard a great deal about you."

Cate smiled. "Only good things, I hope," she said, taking her hand back and folding it primly with the other in front of her.

"The best," Will assured her with a chuckle. "I've been showing Catharine around the ship, sir," he added to Captain Smith.

The captain smiled. "And how do you find her, Miss Alton?"

"She's beautiful," Cate replied truthfully. "I've certainly never seen a grander ship, sir, and I've traveled many times."

"I'm glad you approve," said Captain Smith, looking as if he meant it. "Feel free to look around over the next few days."

"Thank you very much, sir," said Cate, although she knew already that she would never take the captain up on his offer. "That is very kind of you."

"Perhaps Mr. Moody can show you around," Will said, laughing a bit, "I'm sure he hasn't got much to do, have you, James?"

Mr. Moody—James—smiled, showing a dimple in each cheek and alighting a sparkle in his light, blue eyes. "Not at all, Mr. Murdoch," he said. He turned to Cate. "I would be delighted to be of assistance, should you require it, Miss Alton."

She wasn't sure why, but Cate's heart gave a bit of an extra thump at his words, images of the two of them strolling along the sunny deck together invading her mind. "Thank you, Mr. Moody. However, I daren't trouble you."

After saying goodbye to the two men, Will took Cate's arm once more and led her back down the boat deck. Because only one gangway door was open, they had to make their winding way down into the bowels of the ship to E Deck. After making sure that she could find her own way back to the hotel, whose top peeked out above the other buildings, Will and Cate said goodbye at the gangway.

"I shall see you tomorrow," said Will, "if I can spare the time. Like the captain said, feel free to come aboard and look around."

Cate nodded, still knowing that she wouldn't. She stepped forward to kiss her father's cheek before bidding him a farewell, heading down the long plank. When she reached the end, she turned back to wave one last time, but he had already disappeared.


	3. Chapter Three

**Thank you for the continued support! —PB**

 **Chapter Three**

 _Saturday, April 6, 1912_

The next morning dawned bright and cold, leading Esther to insist that Cate wear a shawl in addition to her long, half-sleeved dress of dark brown velvet, with lighter chiffon over the shoulders and intricate, embroidered designs at the bodice. This, coupled with a long, dark day coat and light brown gloves, as well as a wide-brimmed hat topped with a feather, made Cate feel like she was dressing for an entire event, rather than for a morning of strolling through Southampton. But these were the customs.

When she was finally dressed and ready, Cate thanked Esther before leaving the hotel suite and taking the lift to the bottom. She had spent more times in that hotel with Lillian than she could count, but it was strange to be there alone. Often, if they arrived with several days to spare before their ship set sail, they would walk through the city together, reading on long benches in the park, or taking tea at a quaint café. It was rare that the two would agree on what they should do, but they had been warned by their grandparents (and their father) never to separate while in Southampton, and their chaperone, a woman named Mrs. Briggs, had seen to that. It was only as they grew older that they finally disregarded these rules.

Cate's pleasure had always been to go to the park and read for hours, most likely some novel that Will had brought her upon one of his returns, while Lillian had always wanted to go for tea. Cate's hatred for tea had never dissuaded Lillian from wanting to go, and so Cate had spent many rueful hours there sipping lemonade while her sister eyed the people around her and made judgments upon their actions and their clothing. As much as the park bench called to Cate, even she had to concede that it was too chilly for such an adventure and so, reluctantly, as if Lillian was still dragging her, she made her way to a nearby café and seated herself at one of the wrought iron tables in the shade of the green awning.

She sat there with her book aloft, a mug of hot coffee before her, reading and losing herself in this new adventure. A dark tale of danger and mystery were two ingredients for the perfect story, Cate thought, and as a little girl she had often tried to imitate Jo March from _Little Women_ by writing her own stories. She had not, she found out, a talent for inventing ghoulish monsters and damsels in distress, however, so for the most part she kept to reading and writing in her journal, which was currently nestled safely in her Chinese sewing box.

"Miss Murdoch?"

Cate jumped, startled, looking up to see none other than Sixth Officer Moody standing before her. He quickly removed his hat and held it in his hands.

"I apologize," he said, "for startling you and for using an incorrect surname. I meant to say 'Miss Alton.'"

Cate closed her book. Her heart gave another extra thump as she looked up at him. "It's quite alright, Mr. Moody," she said. "Please, feel free to call me Miss Murdoch. It is not, in a sense, incorrect. Or better yet, call me Cath … er, Cate."

James smiled. "May I join you, Miss Murdoch?"

His smile was infectious. "Please do," she replied, gesturing at the empty seat across from her.

The officer sat down across from her. "You are a lady of many names, miss," he said. "Miss Alton, Miss Murdoch, Catharine, Cath, Cate … it's a wonder even you manage to remember them."

Cate laughed. "Well, I suppose you're right," she said. "Except for 'Cath.' No one has ever called me that."

"Perhaps if I ever grow so bold as to take you up on your offer, perhaps I shall call you 'Cate,'" said James. "That is, if you have no objection."

"None at all," said Cate, smiling. "What about you, Mr. Moody? Do you go by anything other than 'James?'"

"Well," he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin "there's always Mr. Moody and Sixth Officer Moody, or simply Officer Moody—"

"My," said Cate with mock amazement, "how convenient that your parents should name you Sixth Officer Moody."

"Indeed," said James without missing a beat. "Although occasionally they shorten it to Jimmy if they find I am being foolish or silly, though I cannot believe that that is ever the case. Most, however, call me James."

"Perhaps if I ever grow so bold as to call you by your Christian name, I shall call you 'James,'" said Cate with another smile. "Never mind if you have any objections."

James laughed. "I admire your honesty, Miss Murdoch." He looked down at the book that Cate had set down upon the table. " _Dracula_ ," he read. "I've never had the courage to read it. Or perhaps I simply haven't the time. Do you enjoy it?"

"Quite," Cate replied eagerly. "I haven't enjoyed something so much since I read _Frankenstein_. It is difficult to put down."

"Well then," said James, "I thank you for finding the willpower to put it down to speak to me."

"I suppose I can deign my presence for a conversation," Cate said airily, looking off into the distance with her nose in the air. Simultaneously, she wondered how he could have so easily brought her from her shell? She was never like this with strangers!

"Oh, very kind of you," James said solemnly. "I shall spend the rest of my day marveling at my luck, truly."

"I should hope so," said Cate.

"I hope you do not find it impertinent that I ask," said James after they had both laughed at their respective silliness, "but how does a young lady such as yourself earn two surnames? Was it a contest that I somehow missed out on?"

Cate smiled, though the light had dimmed a bit in her eyes. "No," she said. "I was raised, not only by my father, but also by my mother's parents; my mother died when I was quite young, you see, and so her parents funded my sister's and my education in Oxford. They are quite wealthy socialites living in Philadelphia, which is where I am bound. So, in order to properly debut in society, my surname is most often Alton."

James nodded thoughtfully. Cate had surprised herself—very rarely did she share such personal information, never mind to a complete stranger! She knew virtually nothing about James Moody, except for the fact that he had charming wit and he worked with her father. She had been taught to be mysterious and coy. "Never give away too much at once," her grandmother, Beth, had warned sternly. "No man will find you interesting if you're an open book." Cate had always interpreted this as being careful not to give away every thought and feeling she possessed. Those she kept reserved for her journal. If anyone else had asked why she had two surnames—not that any outside her family knew—she would have made some charming, sly remark and changed the subject, perhaps whilst hiding behind an ornate fan. What was it about Mr. Moody—James—that made her feel like she didn't need to hide?

"And your grandfather is the Viscount Cowanshire?" James continued.

Cate glanced down at her coffee. She positively hated talking about herself, especially about her family—or her maternal family at any rate.

"Yes," she said shortly. "What about you, Mr. Moody? From where do you hail?"

If James was startled by the sudden change of topic, he didn't show it. He didn't miss a beat before replying, "Scarborough. On the coast. I've lived there all my life with my parents and sisters."

"Is it nice there?"

"It's beautiful," said James. He began telling her of the town in North Yorkshire, the ruins of the Scarborough Castle nestled on a rocky promontory that overlooked the North Sea, and the hours upon hours he had spent on the beach and in the water. "And surely you've heard our beautiful ballad," he added.

"Perhaps," said Cate. Quietly, almost under her breath, she sang a few lines from a song she knew but wasn't quite sure how. " _Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme_ _…_ "

James smiled. "You have a beautiful voice, Miss Murdoch," he said. "I would love to hear you sing the song in its entirety; few can do it justice."

"And I am not one of them," Cate said quickly with a nervous laugh. "I am certainly not a singer, Mr. Moody, though I appreciate your compliment."

" _And_ you are modest," said James. "Unnecessarily so, I might add, but I have the feeling that you will not believe me."

Cate laughed. "You are correct, Mr. Moody."

"Please," he said, looking at her so directly that she blushed under his gaze, "call me James."

Suddenly, Cate felt as uncomfortable as Esther had just the other day. "I couldn't," she said, flustered. "It wouldn't be—"

"Wouldn't be what?" James asked. "You have already given me permission to call you any number of names, if I recall—Catharine, Cath, Cate—why cannot you do me the same honor?"

"But you don't call me any of those names," Cate pointed out. "You have only ever called me Miss Murdoch."

"Then I won't," said James simply, shrugging. "If it will encourage you to call me James, then I shall finally take you up on your offer and call you … Cate."

It took a little more coercing until Cate finally agreed to call him by his forename instead of what was probably considered more 'proper.' When she did finally concede to calling him James, it seemed to break down any last barriers that prevented her from being truly comfortable around him.

"Unfortunately," James said after at least two hours of conversation and multiple cups of tea (for him) and coffee (for her), "I must be off. Perhaps I may count upon seeing you aboard the ship, Cate?"

Cate smiled. "Probably not," she admitted. "Not until she sets sail, at any rate."

James shrugged. "Then I shall have to hope to run into you around town," he said, rising to his feet. Much to Cate's surprise, he had insisted on paying the entire bill, though she was (secretly) certain that she could afford it more easily than he. He stood before her and this time, when she held out her hand, he bent his head and kissed it.

"Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Cate," he said, still bent double so that his face was level with hers as she sat. "I hope to experience it again shortly."

"The pleasure was mine, James," said Cate, a bit breathless for reasons she couldn't understand.

James smiled and straightened up. He nodded his head to her, replaced his hat, and strode off toward the pier, leaving Cate to stare after him.


	4. Chapter Four

**Thank you all for continuing to read and review. It means a lot! – PB**

 **Chapter Four**

 _Sunday, April 7, 1912_

"How will you be spending your day today, miss?" Esther was bustling about the room, getting all of the brushes and combs laid out on the vanity, ready to be used, and draping the long dress that she and Cate had decided upon the night before over the chair. Cate rolled over in her bed, burying the side of her face in the soft pillow.

"I don't know," said Cate when she mustered enough energy to speak. "I've no one to see, which is actually a bit of a relief, so I feel I shall be quite useless today."

"Shall I have breakfast brought up, miss?" Esther asked cheerfully. Cate found it hard to believe that anyone could be so cheerful before noon. "Or would you like to eat out?"

Cate thought for a moment. In Philadelphia, her grandparents had never allowed neither Cate nor Lillian to eat out at restaurants, despite the fact that they were quite fashionable; their grandparents were rather conservative and were convinced that eating out in public was not appropriate. She'd obviously not had much of a chance whilst attending boarding school in Oxford, having been mostly confined to the school building and grounds, and of course, it wasn't something done back home in Scotland, not when there was so many more important things money upon which should be spent. It seemed that the world had been, so far, content in shutting her away. Without Lillian to hide behind, it was the first time she would really be able to step out into the light as it were.

"Miss Cate?" Esther prompted when she received no response.

With a bit of effort, Cate sat up, her hair in total disarray atop her head, her lids heavy. She winced when Esther pulled back the heavy drapes covering the large windows, letting in copious amounts of light, though the sun was hidden behind a blanket of silver clouds.

"I'm sorry, Esther," Cate muttered, still feeling a bit groggy. "I suppose I'll go out to eat. Or… I don't know…" She sighed as she pushed the bedclothes from her body and swung her legs over the side. "Perhaps that is a bit excessive."

"I'm sure the decision is yours to make, miss," Esther said gently. "Your grandparents give you an allowance, don't they?"

Cate nodded.

"Then you should spend it as you wish, especially while you've got the freedom to do so." Cate supposed that Esther would never have spoken to Lillian like this when she was working for her; Lillian would never have allowed it, she would have viewed it as impertinent for a lady's maid to speak in such a way. Cate, however, appreciated it.

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate it, Esther. I'm afraid I often need a little push before I go out the door."

Esther smiled. "I'm happy to give you all the pushes you need, miss. Shall we get you ready, then?"

"Of course." Cate stood and shed her dressing gown, mentally and physically preparing herself to be laced into her corset. She held onto one of the bedposts as Esther tightened the strings, grunting a bit with the effort, as Cate felt herself only able to take smaller and smaller breaths until, finally, she felt like she was being squeezed by a vice and Esther declared that she had finished.

As Esther went to retrieve a dress from the wardrobe, Cate sighed.

"Do you know," she said, "there is a great part of me that wishes I could stay indoors, only because I can't be bothered with the petticoats, and the corsets, and the intricate dresses that are required for going on a simple walk." She paused. "You probably find that very shameful, don't you?"

Esther chuckled as she returned with the long skirt and fitted bodice, both in a pale blue, with white lace on the front on a broach nestled at her throat. It was beautiful and elegant, made to look as if Cate had the hourglass figure that all women were told they should have.

"Of course not, miss," said Esther. "Everyone desires a bit of a break every once and a while. There's nothing wrong with that."

As she pulled on her short, white gloves once she was dressed, Esther fetched her white parasol. The entire act of dressing seemed like an incredibly exhausting affair when, truly, all she was planning on doing was strolling around Southampton and perhaps reading in a park. Unfortunately, her beaded handbag wasn't quite large enough to hold her book, which meant she would again receive strange looks from the passerby when they saw her novel with its bright yellow paper and the word "DRACULA" emblazoned in red across the top.

After saying goodbye to Esther, Cate made her way down to the main lobby of the hotel, nodded at the concierge, and walked out into the brisk Southampton air. It was cold, but not too cold to sit in the park for a bit, and she didn't feel quite ready to eat anything, never having been one for breakfast. The park wasn't too far away from the South Western Hotel, but far enough away that she felt like she had gone on a bit of an adventure. It was the park she had always visited when she managed to pull Lillian away from her gossip and tea, but her sister hated sitting still and hated reading even more. Even if Cate _had_ managed to drag Lillian to the park, her reading was always constantly interrupted by Lillian making comments and impatiently asking if they could leave.

The moment Cate opened her book and found her place, she was lost. She sat at a wooden bench, fairly close to a lake upon which there were ducks floating, with children in their tweed caps throwing breadcrumbs at them, their mothers and governesses watching from a short distance away, sometimes alone, sometimes with a baby buggy or perhaps their husband in a bowler cap. But Cate paid them no attention, so immersed was she in the world created by Bram Stoker, a terrifying world of vampires and other creatures of the night. A terribly risqué world, too, as it were.

"Are you following me, Miss Murdoch?"

Cate looked up, startled from her book, to see James Moody standing before her, a rather mischievous look on his face, as if he was delighted to have given her a fright. She smiled ruefully.

" _I_ was here first, Mr. Moody," Cate pointed out. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I do," James admitted. "May I join you?"

"Please."

James sat down on the opposite side of the bench as Cate closed her book. She was surprised at how reluctant she did _not_ feel to do so. It was rare that anyone could tear her willingly from a book, but it was as if James was holding out a hand to pull her from stormy seas.

"Are you still enjoying your book?" James asked, nodding at the copy in her lap.

"I am," said Cate with another smile. "I've never read anything like it. You should give it a try."

"I would like nothing more," said James, "if only I had the money to buy it and the time to read it."

Cate flushed. She felt like a fool, first lamenting at the effort required to take a walk when Esther worked hard all day as a lady's maid and now for not even thinking about the fact that a ship's officer could hardly spend money on frivolities like a novel, never mind have the time to read one. Her own father had been an officer all her life; she knew better than most about their lifestyle, but now she sounded like a spoiled rich girl with nothing better to do than read. But wasn't that the truth?

"I'm sorry," Cate said after a moment. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's quite alright, Cath," James replied with an easy smile. "I'm not bashful about having little money, and I don't begrudge you for having a lot of it."

Cate wanted to insist that she _didn't_ have any money, that every note in her handbag was given to her by her grandparents, that every dress, parasol, and glove was bought by them, that her hotel room was paid for by them, as was her ticket aboard the _Titanic_. Cate didn't want to explain her curious circumstances, why the daughter of a ship's officer should be traveling in First Class, but she was curious as to why he _wasn't_ curious, even though it wouldn't be proper for him to ask such questions.

"I wouldn't say I have a lot," Cate said at last. "But my grandparents do, I won't deny it."

"Your maternal grandparents," James confirmed.

Cate nodded, gazing off at the small lake. "Yes. My father's family lives a completely different lifestyle, I must say. One that I rather envy."

James raised his eyebrows, not bothering to hide his surprise. "Do you?"

Cate looked at him. "I do," she said. "Very much."

"Catharine."

Now it was Will who stood before them, not looking at all pleased. James jumped to his feet, no longer looking like a jovial chap, but like the serious officer he was.

"Mr. Murdoch," he said with a nod of his head.

Will nodded at him, but it was Cate to whom he gave the longest look, his blue eyes stern, his mouth set in a straight line, all indications that she recognized from her childhood that she was in some sort of trouble.

"Hello, Da," Cate said, pleased to see him despite his evident irritation. Indeed, her tone seemed to soften him just a bit.

"I must get on," said James. "I'll see you aboard, sir."

When Will nodded, he turned to Cate. She half-expected him to kiss her hand like he had done the day before, but he held out his own to shake. She took it with faint disappointment.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Alton," he said, sounding more formal than she had ever heard him.

"And you, Mr. Moody."

James nodded at Will again. "Sir."

When he was gone, Will took the seat he had vacated. It was moment before he spoke; for a bit he merely sat there, his elbows on his thighs, his fingers partially laced together, staring at the ground before him. When did finally speak, Cate found herself wishing he hadn't.

"You can't spend so much time with members of the crew," he said finally.

Cate raised her eyebrows, taken aback; it had been quite a long time since her father had given her a direct order. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time it had happened. "Can't I?" she said incredulously.

Will looked at her, his face serious. "No," he said. "You can't."

Her left eyebrow grew even higher as her defiance grew stronger. "Aren't _you_ a member of the crew?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps you should leave lest any of the other parkgoers start to whisper."

"Don't speak to me that way," Will snapped. "You know what I mean, Catharine."

"I'm afraid I don't," Cate replied coolly, growing even more angry at his refusal to use her nickname, something he only did when she was in trouble. She didn't feel she quite deserved it, being eighteen and a grown woman. "If I were speaking to someone else, would it matter? If I was speaking to a peer like my grandfather? Must he be a viscount or an earl to be worthy of my attention? Or perhaps he need only be a millionaire?"

"Stop it," Will hissed. "Quite apart from the fact that it is improper for an unmarried man and woman to be alone together, a ship's crewman is not _supposed_ to mingle with passengers; it is quite inappropriate."

"Alone together?" Cate repeated. "We're in a park surrounded by ducks and children. And in any case, that never stopped _you_ , did it?"

Cate regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. But she felt so angry to be told off by her father, forbidden from even speaking to James in a place as public as a park. What was the harm in that? For a moment, Will quite looked like he wanted to shout at her, or even hit her across the face, though he'd never done such a thing in her life. He had always been quick to anger, something both she and her sister had inherited. It was a while before he spoke. When he did, he sounded quite calm.

"I don't deserve to be spoken to in such a manner," he said, looking at her. "And you know that. I want what's best for you, Catey, why is that so hard to believe?"

A million answers sprang to her lips, but she swallowed all of them. When he stood, she joined him.

"Will you still join me for dinner?" he asked, smoothing his coat.

"Of course," said Cate, feeling quite ashamed. "If you'll have me."

"I'd have no one else," Will said with a smile she thought looked rather sad. He stepped forward to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you tonight, lass."

He started to walk away, leaving Cate to watch him go, but he stopped halfway down the path and turned back to her.

"I meant what I said, Cate," he said. "You're not to see him again."

* * *

Cate had never been a defiant person; that was always Lillian's territory, always one to scream when she was younger or resort to angry silences when she was older. But Cate had always preferred to avoid conflict, and never saw the point in arguing when she knew she wouldn't win, especially against her formidable grandparents in Philadelphia. Yet as she dressed for dinner that evening, her thoughts were swirling in a storm in her head. Surely there was nothing improper about being friends with someone just because he was a man or because had less money than she. She genuinely liked James and enjoyed his company immensely. And despite her feelings of unease at going against her father's wishes, she silently resolved that she would _not_ avoid him. And that was that.

She had debated whether or not she should dress as one normally would when meeting someone for dinner, even in the comfort of one's own suite, or to wear the simplest ensemble she owned so as to make her father feel more at ease; she knew he would be uncomfortable dining at the South Western. Yet, still feeling bitterly angry about the events that transpired in the park, she decided to push it all in his face, this life he had chosen for her and the one he seemed to think deemed necessary that she be disallowed to talk to a ship's officer. Esther was surprised when Cate picked out her evening gown of dark cerulean silk, blue chiffon overlaying the skirt, a high-waisted velvet band in dark blue, and a pink rosette in the center of the chest, but she helped her dress without complaint.

"It will help us practice for when I'm on the _Titanic_ ," Cate said, placing a hand over the rosette and trying to breathe normally in spite of the corset as she sat at the vanity and Esther styled her hair. "I'll have to dress up each night for dinner."

"This is true," said Esther, sliding in yet another pin to hold the hair in place. "I was just surprised, miss, since I know it's your father coming for dinner."

Cate met her gaze in the glass for a moment before looking away, at some spot on the room in the reflection. "I like to look my best for him," she said vaguely.

But Esther smiled as yet another pin went in. "That's very nice, miss," she said.

When she was dressed, a necklace with a small sapphire pendant nestled at her collarbones and matching earrings dangling from her ears, she stood up from the vanity and glanced at the clock. Will arrived at his daughter's hotel suite at half-past seven, right on schedule, no longer in his officer's uniform, but a simple gray suit. Esther hurried out into the parlor to answer his knock while Cate remained in the bedroom for a moment, feeling inexplicably nervous. It was just dinner, after all. Dinner with her father, her favorite person in the world. At this thought, her insides gave a guilty lurch; if he was her favorite person, then why was she going to so much trouble to make him uncomfortable?

Nevertheless, it was too late to change now. And so, after a moment, Cate started to leave the room but paused when she reached the door and heard her father speaking with Esther out in the parlor.

"Oh, you were Lillian's maid?" Will was saying, sounding surprised. "I didn't realize that. Why did you come here to help Cate, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Lord and Lady Cowanshire… requested it, sir," said Esther. "They told me that Miss Cate needed a lady's maid for the voyage and that I was to assist her, so I sailed over on the RMS _Adriatic_ and met her in Dalbeattie. They hired a different maid for Miss Lillian."

Cate could picture Will smiling at the mention of the place of his birth and childhood. "And how did you find Dalbeattie?" he asked.

"It is beautiful, sir," Esther said earnestly. "I was sorry to go. As was Miss Cate… as I'm sure you know."

Will paused. "Yes," he said at last. "I know. Cate always loved it there, more than her sister ever did, I imagine."

Cate couldn't take it anymore. She left the bedroom and found Will sitting on an armchair in the parlor and Esther standing near the door. Her maid looked up when she entered and Will stood.

"Dinner will be brought up soon, miss," she said.

"Very good," said Cate with a nod. "Thank you."

Esther gave a brief nod and walked into the other room of the suite. Will stared at his daughter for a moment, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"You look beautiful," he said at last.

Cate smiled. "Thank you. I thought I'd make a bit of an effort."

Further surprise was evident on his face. "There's no need to make an effort for me," he said.

"Oh, but of course there is," Cate said flippantly, sitting down on the floral-patterned settee. "Grandfather and Grand-mère sent me all sorts of dresses, and gowns, and jewels, so I must wear them." She met her father's gaze. "It wouldn't be proper, otherwise."

Will looked the faintest bit annoyed. "Of course not," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"After all," Cate continued, hating herself yet unable to stop, "you wanted me to have the best life possible, didn't you? That's why you sent us to America—"

"I didn't _send_ you—" Will began, but Cate continued, ignoring him.

"—to live with two people who don't give tuppence about us, so long as we uphold the honor of the Alton name and the Cowanshire title, of course—"

"Cate—"

"—which includes marrying a very wealthy man, whether we love him or not, so long as he is a millionaire, or the heir to a millionaire. Because if _Lord and Lady Cowanshire_ say we should marry him, then of course, we head straight down the aisle to appease them—"

" _Catharine_!" Will said loudly, finally forcing her to stop. She had been speaking more and more loudly and quickly, growing quite agitated. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

Cate was breathing heavily. Her cheeks were flushed and she felt on the verge of tears. She looked at her father for a moment, her chin trembling, for she stood quickly. Will did the same.

"I…" she stammered. But she could say nothing else. She turned and hurried into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Cate expected to hear her father leave, but a moment later he had entered the bedroom and was taking his daughter, enfolding her in his arms as she cried into his chest. He rubbed her back, whispering that everything would be okay, just as he always had when she was a little girl and she had fallen and scraped her knee or he was preparing to leave on another voyage.

"I love you, Catey," he said quietly as her tears began to subside, though she kept her face buried in his chest. "I think of little else other than you and your sister. When we're apart, I miss you both so much I feel I should burst." He paused. "I know your life isn't easy. And I'm sorry if you've not been happy… but everything I have done is for you and Lilly. Your mother's parents can give you a much better life than ever possible if we had all stayed in Scotland and lived without their help."

"But we would have been happy," Cate whispered, pulling back so she could look at him. "You, Lillian, and I… we all would have been happy together, even without piles of money from the Altons every month, exclusive boarding schools in Oxford, and etiquette lessons from a governess in Philadelphia."

"They are able to give you a real future," said Will, reaching up to place a hand on her cheek. "They can give you so much more than I can. It's for the best, Catey, I know it."

Once Cate managed to dry her tears and realize that Will wasn't going to see things from her perspective, at least not yet, they went back into the parlor for dinner. Will, always one to shove things under the rug, chatted about the upcoming voyage and about Lillian's upcoming wedding, but Cate felt subdued.

"What's this man like?" Will asked, clearly protective about the man who was about to marry his daughter. "It feels so strange for her to be marrying someone I've never met."

Cate shrugged. " _C'est la vie_ ," she drawled, "isn't it? His name is Daniel Norcross, and he's the younger son of the owners of a hotel chain, so he's not an heir, but he's got a decent amount of money coming."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I asked what he was like, not how much he had."

"It all comes down to the same thing in my world," said Cate, "or my grandparents' world, at any rate. Anyway, he's nice enough, I suppose. He seems a bit jovial for Lillian's taste, though."

"And does she love him?"

"Who knows what on earth goes on in Lillian's head?" said Cate, rolling her eyes. "She's so picky and hot one moment and cold the next. But I think so, or at least she _likes_ him, which is enough for Grandfather and Grand-mère."

"I thought you said it wouldn't matter if you liked him," said Will, cocking an eyebrow and looking at her, "that if your grandparents chose him, then you had no choice?"

"Lillian is a bit more hard-headed than I," Cate replied coolly. "I don't think she'd marry a man she couldn't stand to be around, but she understands the importance of a smart match, and money, and as long as he is handsome, what's not to like?"

Will sighed. "You make your sister sound quite shallow."

"I don't _make_ her sound shallow, Da. She _is_ shallow."

As usual, Will immediately looked stern, as if he wanted to send her to her room.

"There's no need to be so unkind, Cate—"

"There's every need," said Cate, sipping her red wine from its crystal glass. "You'd understand if you knew her better."

For a moment, Will looked as if she had slapped him across the face. He set his napkin down on his plate. "I wish I did," he said after a moment. "I don't seem to know you half as well as I thought, either." He sighed. "Catey, what is it? I haven't seen you in nearly a year. You've just spend several months in Scotland, which I thought you would enjoy, but now you're so melancholy and… frankly, lass, I've never seen you so angry or heard you speak so hurtfully."

Cate felt herself start to resign. There was no point in continuing to argue with him while he continued to believe that he had done what was best. She had never argued with him in the past about the life he had chosen for his daughters, but now that this life was staring her in the face as she prepared to move forever to Philadelphia and leave her true home behind, she felt she had no other choice. She was abandoning everything she had ever loved, so why not abandon the person she had once been? Will wanted his sweet, mild-mannered daughter back, but Cate wasn't sure she existed anymore.

"Do you remember," she said after a moment, "the beautiful sewing box you brought me from one of your voyages when I was a little girl?"

Will seemed a bit taken aback by the change of subject, but he nodded. "Yes," he said. "The one from Shanghai. I got one for both you and Lilly... it was my first voyage after…"

"After you left us in Philadelphia," Cate finished for him, "when we were six."

"It was only until Christmas," Will said softly. "I knew you girls were well looked after, so I signed on as First Officer aboard the _J. Joyce & Co._ It seemed perfect… I left straight from New York and continued there and back to China until it was time to see you and Lilly for Christmas. I didn't know what to get you... now I know you would have preferred a book, but you couldn't read at the time… and this lovely old woman was selling these sewing boxes with such intricate designs and pictures. Perhaps I should have gotten you a toy instead; you and Lilly didn't really know what to do with them at the time."

"I still have mine," said Cate, smiling slightly at his reminiscing. "I take it with me everywhere. I carry all of my most prized possessions in it."

"Like what?"

"My diary, for one thing," Cate replied with another smile. "And… many of the trinkets and gifts you brought us over the years, like the statue of a giraffe from Cape Town when I was seven, or the necklace from New York when I was thirteen. I even have the soft toy you gave me when I was ten… the one named for Theodore Roosevelt… the teddy bear. Although he doesn't fit in the sewing box, I must admit."

Will chuckled. "Lilly was so put out that I didn't bring you girls anything _interesting_ that year, or so she said. But I saw the toy bear in the window of a shop and I knew you girls had to have one."

"I named mine William," Cate said after a moment. "I read him stories from _Peter Pan_ and _Through the Looking Glass_ , and I slept with him every night for years. It was like having you with me again, as if you could look through his glass black eyes and see me."

Will said nothing. He could only look at her sadly.

"But do you know what my favorite thing in the box is?" said Cate.

"What's that, lass?"

"It's a small trinket of a Scottish terrier."

Will cocked his head to the side. "I don't recall—"

"No, it wasn't a gift from you," Cate said quickly. "I found it when I went to the market with Papa when I was eight. Lillian thought they were ugly, but I thought it was so sweet, and I was prepared to buy it with my own allowance, but Papa insisted on getting it for me since I liked it so much. It reminds me of being home. I feel as if, when I ever I hold it in my hand, I'm back there in our cottage, and you're reading in your armchair in front of the fire, and Lillian is playing with her doll on the rug. And we're all so blissfully happy and thoroughly lower class that nothing else seems to matter but the three of us."

"Thoroughly lower class," Will repeated with a chortle. "Catey, have you been in your gilded world for so long that you've forgotten what lower class even _is_? We would never have been able to afford a cottage like that without the monthly stipend from your grandparents. That life was thoroughly _middle_ class—"

"But Nana and Papa—"

"—have worked long and hard," Will interrupted, "both of them, to get to where they are now. But I was displaced from work after bringing you girls back from Canada, and we lived with my parents because I couldn't get enough work as a laborer to provide for the three of us. When your mother died, _her_ parents were the ones who made it so we could buy that cottage, as well as hire a woman to cook and care for you girls when I wasn't there." He paused. "I was young, lass, only twenty when I learned that I was a father to twin girls across the sea. Without your Nana and Papa, we would have lived on the streets, and without your Grandfather and Grand-mère, you wouldn't have any of those prized possessions you mentioned, we certainly wouldn't be sitting in this beautiful hotel suite, and you wouldn't have a quid to your name. And this is the 'lower class' life you so long for?"

"But we could have been happy," Cate insisted. "A life with money doesn't automatically equal a happy one—"

"This coming from the young woman who has scarcely lived without it," Will said gently. "Money may not equal happiness, my darling, but it can guarantee that you are taken care of and that you are safe from hardships. And that is what I have always wanted for my daughters."

Will left that evening with the promise that he would meet Cate for tea the next day, but that he could not linger, as there would be much to do aboard the ship. Cate was glad she had had a chance to have such a long conversation with her father, but she couldn't help but feel that the entire evening had been fruitless. She hadn't changed his mind at all, and he still thought that her moving to Philadelphia permanently to marry a rich, faceless stranger was better than living back in Scotland and marrying a farm hand. When he had gone and Esther had helped her undress and get ready for bed, and Cate found herself alone in her room, she walked over to the vanity, and gently lifted the lid from her Chinese sewing box.

There, nestled within, were all of the items of which she had spoken to Will. The necklace, the diary, the giraffe statuette from South Africa, and the thing she had not mentioned: the letter she had torn into quarters just before leaving the cottage in Dalbeattie. Slowly, she picked up the pieces and glanced at their contents. " _Dear Catharine_ …" " _…_ _our original intention was for you to sail in mid-June_ …" "… _have now decided to book for you a passage onboard the RMS_ Titanic _…_ _"_ "… _early April_ …" "… _be sure to pack all your things, as you will not return to Scotland_ _…_ " "… _Sincerely, Grand-mère_ …" Cate felt a lump rising within her throat and her lower lip trembling. So her grandparents thought a First Class trip aboard the RMS _Titanic_ for her maiden voyage would be such good publicity for a debutante that she should leave her home and loved ones two months early? This was the life her father had wanted for her?

Perhaps Lillian was right; perhaps it was best to lock away one's emotions so that no one could ever know what you were truly thinking. Lillian was just as angry about what she called their "father's abandonment," but she had resorted to chilling silences and dirty looks, rather than trying to explain her feelings and making him see reason. Perhaps it was just best to give up. Without a backward glance, Cate tossed the four pieces of the letter into the fire lit in the grate where, she assumed, the curled in on themselves and turned black from the outside in.


	5. Chapter Five

**Thank you for the continued reviews, favs, and follows! I'll keep the chapters coming! —PB**

 **Chapter Five**

 _Monday, April 8, 1912_

"I do hope you've not been frightfully bored while you've been here," said Cate, smoothing out the sage-colored silk band around the waist of her white dress. Esther stood behind her at the vanity, carefully pinning a white, wide-brimmed hat topped with red, pink, and pale yellow flowers to her hair.

"Well, I admit, miss, that there's less to do than at the big house in Philadelphia," said Esther, stepping back when she had inserted the final pin. "But I enjoy being here in England again and I enjoy working for you. It's nice to have a bit of a break."

Cate smiled. "I don't see it so much as working for me as assisting me," she said. "But I do appreciate your help very much. Promise me you'll take a proper break today and leave the hotel to get some fresh air and perhaps some tea or luncheon. I have a tab going at the café down the street that I intend to pay off tomorrow afternoon, so tell them that it's on me."

Esther beamed. "Well, thank you very much, miss! That's very kind of you."

When Cate was finally ready and Esther had helped her wrap her shawl securely around her, she thanked her maid one final time before hurrying from the suite. She was running a bit late to meet her father for tea, not having responded to Esther's calls to wake her up for some time, finally forcing the poor girl to shake her until she was finally startled awake. Cate had fallen asleep late that evening, having watched the pieces of the letter burn in the fire for some time, lost in her own thoughts, before taking to her diary, and finally retiring to the bed to read _Dracula_ until she fell asleep with it lying open across her abdomen, dreaming that night of vampires and young women in distress.

Much to her surprise, as the grille of the lift was pulled back and she stepped off, she saw Will standing in the middle of the marble lobby, dressed in his officer's uniform and looking quite smart underneath the crystal chandelier. Cate couldn't help but smile at him, despite her misery the previous night. She loved her father so very dearly and hated to fight with him. Perhaps letting everything go _was_ indeed for the best. Will was talking to another man that Cate had seen only in passing as she left and returned to the hotel. He was tall with gray hair and a kind, smiling face. As Cate approached, she heard him speaking with a soft, lilting Irish voice.

"Ah, there you are, lass," said Will, smiling when he saw her. "Mr. Andrews, may I introduce my daughter, Catharine Alton. Cate, this is Mr. Thomas Andrews; he designed and supervised the building of the _Titanic_."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alton," said Mr. Andrews, shaking her hand.

"And you, sir," said Cate, smiling. "My father was kind enough to show me around your ship the other day; she's so beautiful and radiant. I've never seen anything like her."

Mr. Andrews returned her smile. "Thank you very much, Miss Alton," he said. "Will tells me you'll be traveling in First Class?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I look forward to seeing you on board," said Mr. Andrews, "and hearing what you think about _Titanic_ once you get to know her. Perhaps I may count on you to join me for dinner one evening?"

"Thank you very much, sir," said Cate, inclining her head a bit. "I should be delighted."

After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Will and Cate said goodbye to Mr. Andrews as they continued out of the lobby and he proceeded to the lift up to his room. Despite her desire to remain civil, Catharine could not help herself from saying quietly as they walked outside,

"You're not going to forbid me from seeing him again?"

Will sighed. "He's not crew, Catharine."

"Ah, but he's a man."

"A married man who is actually only a few days older than I am," Will corrected her. "He has a wife in Belfast and a young daughter whom they call Elba. I don't think Mr. Thomas Andrews escorting you to dinner and sharing a table with you as quite on the same level as being alone with a young, unmarried member of the _Titanic_ crew. And that's flat."

Cate relented. Clearly this was a battle she was not going to win.

"I'm sorry to be late," she said, taking his arm as they walked further into Southampton and away from the pier. "I was up late last night, writing and reading, and poor Esther couldn't wake me up."

"Not to worry," said Will, patting the hand that rested on his arm. "I don't have much time today, but once the ship docks in New York, I'll stay there while she returns to Southampton in order to spend some time with you and Lilly before setting off again. And I'll be back in time for the wedding in June."

"I wonder if I shall be engaged myself by then," Cate said dully, more to herself than to him.

Will looked at her, surprised. "You think it will happen as quickly as that? Do you even know many eligible men yet?"

Cate shrugged. "I know plenty; there were piles upon piles of them at my coming out ball. I think Grand-mère has a chap named Edward Black in mind. He's in banking and certainly one of the richest men in the community."

"I don't recall you mentioning him," said Will.

"I don't much think about him, to be honest."

"And do you like him?"

Cate shrugged again. "I don't _know_ him," she said. "I've only seen him a few times, at various cotillions for debutantes, including Lillian's and my own debut balls. I think I've spoken to him once."

Will stopped, not caring at other passerby were forced to suddenly go around them on the sidewalk. "And you think your grandparents will have you marry him, just like that?"

Cate sighed. "Does this surprise you?" she asked. "I already told you, that's what awaits me in Philadelphia. If don't marry Edward Black, then it will be someone just like him. Maybe some people marry for love, but Grandfather and Grand-mère certainly didn't, and they won't expect Lillian or I to do so, either."

"Cate—"

" _C'est la vie_ , as Grand-mère often says," said Cate, turning and continuing down the sidewalk. "And anyway, I'm sure it's not proper to speak of things like money and love. Which café would you like to go to for tea? I still hate tea, but I would love some coffee."

* * *

Will left a while later with the promise that he would try to see her as often as possible once the ship set sail, though admitting that it was unlikely to happen often. Cate thought that perhaps this was for the best; this would prevent any further arguments until they arrived in New York, at which point James would no longer be there to act as the catalyst. And in any case, Adam and Beth Alton would be absolutely horrified to learn that Will was the ship's first officer, lest any of the passengers should learn of the connection between him and their poor, orphaned granddaughter whose mother had tragically died from tuberculosis and whose father had died before she and her sister were born… or at least, that was the story Adam and Beth told everyone.

As Cate wandered around the shops of Southampton, looking in the windows and smiling vaguely at the men who touched their hats to her with a nod, she thought of a conversation she had had with Lillian not long after Daniel Norcross had proposed and their engagement had been announced in Philadelphia's most popular newspaper, the _Public Ledger_.

"Will Da be walking you down the aisle?" Cate had asked as they sat in Lillian's bedroom one night after dinner, she sitting on an armchair and Lillian at the vanity, brushing her hair.

Lillian had met her sister's gaze in the reflection of the glass, her blue eyes wide in surprise. "Certainly not," she had said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Are you mad? The papers would have a field day… _Viscount's Granddaughter Given Away at Wedding by Penniless Sailor_. Honestly, Cate, do you even think or does the first thought that comes to your head just naturally spew out your mouth?"

"'Penniless sailor?'" Cate had repeated. "Is that really what you think of our father?"

Lillian had shrugged. "It's not what _I_ think of him that matters," she had replied coolly. "And anyway, he'll be sent an invitation, isn't that enough?"

"And what about our family back home? Nana and Papa? Our aunts and uncles and cousins? Gwen?"

Lillian had sighed heavily and set down her brush. "It's not our home any longer," she had snapped. "You would do well to learn that. Besides, Nana and Papa will understand, as will everyone else. God, can you imagine trying to explain their presence to everyone else? No, thank you, I should like to avoid that."

Cate had shaken her head. "You're truly horrible."

But Lillian had just laughed. "Whatever you say, my dear. Father won't be walking _you_ down the aisle, either, should that glorious day ever come, so you may as well get used to the idea. I know you worship him, but honestly, Cate, there's no need."

"Hello, Cate."

Cate stopped suddenly, shaking the uncomfortable memory of the conversation with her twin from her head. She was surprised to find herself back near the South Western Hotel, the sun beginning to set behind the buildings, and James Moody standing before her, looking a bit amused at how he had startled her.

"James," she whispered. "I'm… I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

James grinned. "Evidently. I seem to have interrupted quite a long freight train of thought."

"Nothing important," Cate said softly, still feeling quite flustered.

James raised his eyebrows, still looking quite amused. "Why are you whispering?"

"Am I?" said Cate, louder now. "Sorry. I'm just… you startled me, is all."

"Evidently," James said again, still smiling. "How have you been, Cate? It's seems ages since I last saw you, though I know it was only yesterday. Did you miss me?"

Cate smiled in spite of herself, despite her lingering thoughts about her sister and her worries that her father, though she knew he was safely on board the ship, would come across them. "Well, that's a bit forward," she said, cocking an eyebrow and smirking at him. "I cannot possibly respond."

His smile was certainly infectious. "I can only assume that that is because your response would be as equally forward," he said, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels. He paused, looking suddenly reluctant. "I noticed that things with your father looked tense as I departed yesterday," he said slowly. "I hope that that was not my doing."

Cate sighed. "To be honest, he does not think it proper for me to spend time with the crew. Not without his presence, at any rate."

"Naturally," said James, nodding. "We're discouraged from interacting with passengers too much."

"But I'm not a passenger right now," Cate said, a bit petulantly. "Are you on duty at the moment?" she asked. He looked strange without his uniform, wearing, instead, a simple suit. But just as handsome.

James shrugged. "Duty is not as clearly defined before the vessel sets sail," he said. "Once we depart on Wednesday, I'll have a strict schedule, but until then, it's a bit murky. But no, right now I have a bit of time off."

"Well," Cate said slowly, an idea suddenly occurring to her. "It sounds as if, technically, you're not a member of the crew at this very moment. So would you be opposed to taking a stroll with me through the park?"

James beamed at her and offered her his arm. "As a matter of fact, nothing would please me more."

They set off away from the hotel, heading back toward the park in which they had sat together the previous day. For a while they walked in silence, looking around them, no one paying them any mind.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" James asked after a while. "I can't recall if Mr. Murdoch mentioned anyone but you."

"I have a sister," Cate said, not much caring to talk about her, "an identical twin, actually. Her name is Lillian."

"And she's not traveling with you? Or perhaps I've met both of you without realizing it?"

Cate chuckled. "No," she said. "She lives in Philadelphia with our mother's parents."

"But not your mother?"

"My mother's dead," Cate said shortly.

James stopped suddenly, looking uncomfortable. "Oh," he stammered, "I'm terribly sorry—"

"It's quite alright," Cate said quickly, continuing to walk again. "We never met our mother. For the most part, we were raised by my father and his family. Well… to a point."

James paused. "May I ask you a terribly impertinent question?"

"Go on," said Cate, not looking at him.

"How is it that a ship's officer has children who are the grandchildren of an English viscount and one who is traveling First Class on the very ship upon which he is employed?"

It was a while before Cate responded. It seemed so strange to be talking with someone who was not a family member about both sides of her life. In Philadelphia, no one knew the true identity of her father. In Scotland, no one even mentioned her maternal family. But James knew about both and spoke of them freely.

"It's complicated," she said at last. "Extremely complicated. And not at all proper. My father wouldn't like me to speak of it."

"Your father wouldn't like you to speak to me at all," James said quietly.

"No, he wouldn't," Cate admitted. "Not because he doesn't like you—"

"How could he not?" James interjected with a grin.

Cate ignored this, though she smiled. "But he said that… being alone with you… was quite improper."

James looked around the park. " _Are_ we alone?"

They stopped. It seemed that they were. The sun had set, the lamps had been lit, and little was heard other than the chirping of night birds and the croaking of frogs on the lake, and further off, motorcars roaring along some other part of the city. They stood illuminated by the golden glow of a lamp nearby, looking at one another. Cate suddenly felt quite nervous.

"Yes, I believe we are," she said quietly.

James smiled. "How utterly improper."

Looking at him, this man she had only met a few days ago, Cate felt quite flustered. She had hardly been allowed to speak to words to any man before she made her debut in September, just after her eighteenth birthday, and then she had been flung at them in all directions. But none of them, not Edward Black, not any bachelor who had bowed to her and asked her to dance, had made her heart pound, or made her smile quite so much, or made her laugh at the silliest of things. None of them had had dimples, either, which she found she quite liked. And as she thought these things, she finally started to realize why Will had called it improper.

* * *

 _Tuesday, April 9, 1912_

Southampton seemed to bustle ever more loudly the next day. Everywhere Cate went she heard excited whispers and exclamations about the _Titanic_ and how she was to set sail in one day's time. Rather than spend the day milling about or sitting at a café or in a park, as she had since she had arrived, Cate decided to take advantage of the money her grandparents had given her and do some shopping. Her entire wardrobe had been purchased by her grandmother when she made her debut in society, which meant that most of the clothes really weren't to her taste. At least Cate could count upon the fact that Lady Cowanshire had not been malicious when choosing the clothes, lest her own reputation be smudged by her granddaughter's poor taste in fashion.

The previous evening, James had walked Cate back to her hotel, where the two had stood just out of the glow of the lamp near the door, talking, neither quite ready to say goodnight. Finally, though, James had bid her a good evening before kissing her hand, his eyes never leaving hers, and promising that he would try to see her one last time before the ship set sail. After that, Cate knew, it was highly unlikely that she would see him at all on a palace like the _Titanic_.

In the different shops, the keepers were very simpering, bowing and offering to help her with anything that she could ever require, offering assistance in choosing a frock, offering tea and coffee, offering her a chaise upon which she could sit should she feel fatigued. Cate would have quite liked to browse on her own, but none of the shopkeepers would have any of it, bringing her dress after dress, gloves after gloves, hat after hat for her to look at.

"We are quite honored to serve the granddaughter of Lord Cowanshire," so many of them said as the lesser employees ran back to fetch whatever Cate had asked to see.

As the sun began setting that evening, Cate left the shops with the promise of all of her purchases being sent to Philadelphia, along with the bills. Only a few of the dresses would be sent to the hotel, as only a few more items would fit into her luggage. She felt quite daring as she headed back to the hotel, wondering what her grandparents would say when so many pieces of clothing showed up in Philadelphia and a considerable bill was mailed to them. Honestly, they probably wouldn't mind all that much, as long as the clothes were proper and up to their standard, which meant Cate wasn't even that daring at all. But much to her surprise, she had actually enjoyed shopping: looking at dresses, trying on gloves and hats, being waited on… it was a fairly new experience; up until her debut, she'd been quite sheltered both by her grandparents while in Philadelphia and by the teachers at her boarding school in Oxford.

 _You wouldn't have been able to enjoy shopping without your grandparents_ , she could hear her father say knowingly in her head. _Yes, well, enjoying myself whilst shopping must mean I'm the happiest girl alive_ , she retorted inwardly. Then she scolded herself for having an imaginary argument.

"Did you miss me?"

Cate whirled around. She was on the corner near the hotel, but now had been given yet another fright by James, who looked like a mischievous little boy as he grinned innocently at her.

"If you startle me one more time, I shall box your ears," said Cate, trying to catch her breath.

"Can I help it that Miss Murdoch is a dreamer and scarcely notices what goes on around her?" James asked, shrugging.

Cate sighed and walked over to where he stood. "You're the only one in the world who calls me Miss Murdoch," she said. "I'll miss it."

"I prefer calling you Cate, I must confess," said James. "Can't you take your father's surname?"

Cate gave a humorless laugh. "Of course not," she said. "I haven't been Cate Murdoch since I was six years old. But that's nothing to trouble you with."

"But it's who you are," James said, rather quietly. "I _want_ to be troubled by everything to do with you."

"I can't think why," said Cate, looking out at the street. "My life is far too complicated for you to bother yourself with, and… and perhaps it's for the best that way."

James raised his eyebrows. "Is it? I'm not on duty, so why—"

"You know why," Cate interrupted softly.

"No," said James, clasping his hands together in front of him, "I don't. Care to tell me, Miss Murdoch?"

Cate lowered her eyes a moment before speaking. "Because… because as soon as I leave your company, I won't be Cate Murdoch—I'll be Cate Alton, who is a completely different person. I'm not even a Murdoch with my father, as we can't seem to speak of anything else but my life in Philadelphia."

"So the life of a viscount's granddaughter is too complicated for a ship's officer to understand?" James said quietly. "Is that it?"

Cate sighed. "I'm not _just_ a viscount's granddaughter," she said. "I'm a sailor's daughter, and my father is a completely different person from Lord Cowanshire, but I'm living proof that it doesn't work when those two worlds collide."

"A viscount's granddaughter, a sailor's daughter," said James. "But what are _you_ , Cate, living proof that those worlds _did_ collide? Because, if I may say so, those worlds collided to create a beautiful and unique individual—one who embodies the best of what those two worlds have to offer. Strength and grace, fire and refinement—"

"James," Cate whispered, quite overcome, "I've done nothing to deserve such praise." She swallowed. "You… you don't even know me—"

"But you won't let me get to know you?" James interrupted. "Look, Cate, if you would prefer that I don't say it outright, then I'll just say this: I very much enjoy your company and I want to be lucky enough to spend more time with you."

"You don't know what you're asking—"

"Am I not good enough for you?"

"Of course you are," Cate said quickly. "In fact, I rather think you're _too_ good for me. You should spend your time with someone far less complicated—"

"Is that the only adjective of which you can think to describe yourself?"

Cate sighed. "But it's the truth, James. My history is complicated, my life is complicated. It would not end well, I assure you."

James smiled despite the seriousness of their conversation. "I'm not proposing marriage, Cate."

Cate gaped at him. It took her a moment to find her voice. Obviously, that wasn't what she had been expecting him to say. "Well…" she sputtered, "good."

"Like you said, I don't know you," James continued. "I just _want_ to know you. Give me the chance. Is it so improper or complicated to be friends?"

Cate looked at him suspiciously, her brow furrowed. "And… that's all you want, is it? To be friends?"

James smiled again. "I'd like to think we're already friends."

"Then… what is it you want from me? What was the point in all this?"

James looked around innocently. "In all what?" he said. "I merely sought to greet you, but then you made things complicated. Let's be friends, Cate. I rather think we'd be good at it."

Cate sighed. She felt more confused than ever, but she suddenly felt exhausted and desperate to sleep, despite the fact that the sun was still in the process of setting.

"Alright," she said at last. "We're friends."

The smile James gave her made her feel weak at the knees. He removed the hat from his head and stepped forward, swiftly kissing her cheek. Before she could say a word, only able to gape stupidly at him, he winked at her, replaced his hat, and strode off toward the pier. Cate was left to stare after him in shock, her heart pounding, the side of her face tingling, feeling like they were off to a rough start at just being friends.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 _Wednesday, April 10, 1912_

On the morning that the RMS _Titanic_ was due to set sail, Cate rose much earlier than was her preference or custom. She knew she had to be at the pier before noon, but because it was so close and because she felt so terribly nervous and reluctant about the whole thing, she found herself getting ready at a snail's pace. She rose when Esther called her, but took her time in the bath, running the yellow bar of soap over her wet skin, resting her neck on the curved edge of the claw-footed tub, trying to tune out the sounds of Esther putting the finishing touches on all the packing she had done last night. Her conversation with James was parading through her mind without stop. He had talked circles round her until she felt quite dizzy, first calling her beautiful and unique before saying that all he wanted was to be her friend, and then kissing her on the cheek. Cate felt quite certain that he had meant to confuse her and enjoyed it immensely, and while a small part of Cate felt annoyed that he talked in riddles, a much larger part was longing to see him again.

"Miss Cate?" came Esther's voice through the lavatory door. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but you don't begin to get ready soon, you'll be late to board."

Cate smiled at the image of how angry her grandparents would be if she was too late to sail on the _Titanic_ and she sent them a telegram to say that she was heading back to Scotland instead. Nevertheless, as much as she wanted to stay on this side of the ocean, she was curious about the great ship's maiden voyage. And so, with a slight sigh, Cate rose from the tub and reached for a towel that Esther had set out. The moment she returned to the bedroom, Esther swept her over to the vanity, pushed her down onto the stool, and began to dry her long hair with a towel.

"Are you looking forward to the journey, Esther?" Cate asked, looking at her through the glass.

Esther smiled as she worked. "I'm quite nervous, miss," she said. "I've sailed before, but never on a maiden voyage. It'll be quite exciting, I should think."

By the time Cate was dried, coiffed, and dressed, they had only an hour to transport all of their luggage to the pier, have it loaded onto the ship, and board themselves. At Esther's call, a number of hotel concierges came up to carry down the two large steamer trunks, as well as the endless dress and hat boxes. Esther was left to carry the Chinese sewing box, which she insisted on carrying even after Cate offered.

"It's my job, miss," Esther had said briskly, "to make your life easier."

The journey to the pier, though it was only a ten minute walk, seemed to take a lifetime. Cate felt as if her insides were tied in knots as the trunks and boxes were loaded into a taxi by the concierges, whom Cate tipped generously, and as they were driven down the narrow street to the pier. If Cate had felt nervous earlier, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. She had always had Lillian with her—always. Even when she had left America back in late November, at least Lillian had been with her until she boarded the ship, and her grandparents had made sure all of her luggage was loaded. Now it was up to her and she didn't feel quite up to the task. If she didn't have Esther, she was quite sure she would faint.

The pier was crowded beyond comprehension. The driver of the taxi was only able to go so far before the honking of his horn could no longer separate the masses. The moment he stopped, Esther sprang into action and hurried down from where she sat in the cab beside the driver, scurrying off to hail a porter to come help. The driver was just opening the back door and assisting Cate out of the car when Esther returned with the porter, as well as two men to assist him.

"If I could just see your tickets, miss?" he said to Cate, sounding perfectly kind despite the chaos that reigned at Berth 44.

With slightly shaky hands, Cate showed him the two tickets, which she had guarded with her life up until that point. After glancing at them, the porter nodded at the two men assisting them.

"B-76," he said. "All the luggage in this car."

Cate thanked the porter profusely and gave him, as well, a generous tip. Not wanting Esther to think she was a total coward, she led the way, not to the gangplank that her father had taken her on, as it would now only be accessible by those in third-class and by the crew, but to one that led to B-Deck, where her cabin was situated. She followed the directions given by the porter to the gangway toward the front of the ship, feeling more and more anxious with each step she took. Why she was so nervous, she couldn't say, except that this was the biggest undertaking she had ever had on her own.

The pier was swarming with people of all different backgrounds. Prim ladies walked on the arms of handsome men, children ran hither and thither, and scores upon scores of people stood at the edge of the dock, waving up at the countless people who had already boarded and gone up to the deck to wave goodbye to their loved ones. Esther couldn't help but smile at one little girl with long, curly brown hair sitting atop her rotund father's shoulders.

"It's a big boat, huh?" he was saying to her in his cockney voice.

"Daddy, it's a ship," the little girl corrected him.

"You're right," said the man.

The little girl was distracted by the honking of a horn behind her. Cate glanced back at a car that was pulling up onto the pier, but then she continued on toward the gangway. The looming ship grew closer and closer so that soon Cate could count each rivet if she wished. She wondered which window would be hers. When they finally arrived at the gangway door, they were greeted by an officer whom Cate had never met (which wasn't saying much since she had only met Captain Smith and James). Rising beyond the officer was part of the beautiful grand staircase that she had seen before with its bronze cherub poised on the center post.

"Welcome to _Titanic_ , miss," he said, taking the tickets from her. Cate half-expected him to recognize the name "Catharine Alton" as the daughter whom the officer's comrade so often spoke of, but he gave no indication that he had any clue as to whom she was. "Let's see… B-76 and B-100. Right. Lucy, could you come here, please?"

A young woman, probably not too much older than Cate herself, scurried forward. She was dressed much like the housemaids at Cate's grandparents' home in Philadelphia, wearing a black dress with a white apron and white cap over her blond hair. She smiled welcomingly.

"Hello, miss," she said, bobbing in a short curtsey. "I'm Lucy Cartwright and I'll be your stewardess. If you'll just follow me, I'll take you to your stateroom."

Lucy led the way directly to the right through a set of open baized doors. The wooden paneling of the walls of this corridor were painted white, in contrast to the teak of the grand staircase, with brass handrails running along them. A long, floral carpet ran the length of the hard, white floor. In addition to the harsher, white lights on the ceiling were mounded lamps here and there on the walls, casting a more golden glow. After three doors marked B-52, B-54, and B-56, the doors to subsequent cabins were further back from the main corridor, every other one accompanied by a second door adjacent which, presumably, led to a smaller, windowless cabin. After about four of these small recesses, there was a narrow hallway to the left, which connected with the parallel corridor on the starboard side of the ship.

"Your cabin is the first door on the left down this way, miss," Lucy said to Esther, yet not pausing in her stride. "And down the corridor we just passed, you'll find the ladies' lavatory."

They continued down past two more doors until they reached the one marked B-76. This one was not accompanied by a second door; it was alone in its small recess away from the main corridor. Lucy pushed the door open and led the way inside.

"You have your own lavatory, miss, through this door," she said, running her hand along the door immediately to her left, "as well as a wardrobe."

In the stateroom, a narrow walkway opened up to the bulk of the room. It was decorated in Georgian style, the wooden paneling, which reached halfway up the walls, painted white and the wallpaper in light blue trefoils, with intricate white moldings along the ceiling and above the doorways. In the very center of the far wall was a rectangular window that looked out at the pier, still filled with people. A four-poster bed was in the far left corner with a thick, cream-colored blanket that extended only to the edges of the mattress, and matching curtains. Opposite the bed was a writing desk, also painted white, and a ribbon-back chair with a cream-colored seat. In between the bed and the desk was a cream-colored settee, just large enough for two people. And on the wall opposite the settee was a white vanity and stool. All in all, the room had a very light, cheerful air.

"Oh, it's lovely," Cate breathed, walking further into the room. "I must send a telegram to my grandparents to have them redesign my bedroom in Philadelphia."

Esther laughed and Lucy smiled.

"Is there anything you should require, miss? You have your own maid, but I am available at any time should you or she need any extra assistance."

"No, thank you, Lucy," said Cate, smiling at her.

Lucy nodded her head and turned to Esther. "The dining saloon for maids and valets is on C-Deck," she said. "If there's anything you need, please let me know."

When Lucy left, Esther walked forward to open the window whilst Cate sat down on the settee. The moment the window was open, the sounds of the bustling crowd outside filtered in.

"Do you want to come up to the boat deck with me and watch her weigh anchor?" Cate asked, looking hopefully at her maid.

Esther smiled regretfully. "I would love to, Miss Cate, and I appreciate the offer, but I need to wait here for your luggage to arrive, and then unpack. It will probably take most of the afternoon."

"Oh." Cate suddenly felt foolish. Of course, Esther had a job to do. She was hired to be there; it wasn't as if she was Cate's traveling companion, just there for a trip of leisure. "Right, of course," she said briskly, rising to her feet. "Well… thank you, Esther. If ever you feel the need for a break, please feel free. And obviously you should go see your own stateroom at some point. I'm sure it's just as beautiful."

Esther smiled again. "I'm sure, miss. Have a nice time."

And so, with Esther's blessing, Cate took one last look at the cabin before walking back out into the corridor. As she turned to the left, heading back toward the grand staircase, she stopped. Standing in front of the first door of the corridor were three people she recognized: the first was a young woman with vivid red hair underneath a white, wide-brimmed hat; her mother stood beside her, her hair just as red, perhaps in her forties; the third was a tall man in a brown suit and dark hair underneath a bowler hat. They were Rose Dewitt Bukater and her mother, Ruth, and Rose's fiancé, Caledon Hockley, accompanied by two maids and a valet. The Dewitt Bukaters and the Hockleys were two very prominent families in Philadelphia, and though Rose was a year younger, she, Cate, and Lillian had made their debuts around the same time. Not long after, seventeen-year-old Rose had gotten engaged to thirty-year-old Cal Hockley, one of the most handsome and eligible bachelors in the community. Lillian had been quite bitter about it, as had their grandparents. Absolutely everyone was invited to their wedding, Cate and her family included; likewise, the Dewitt Bukaters and the Hockleys were invited to Lillian's wedding. The party of three turned to look at her as she appeared in the corridor.

"Catharine," Rose said, a rather forced smile on her beautiful face.

"Lucky guess," said Cate, striding toward them. "How are you, Rose? Mrs. Dewitt Bukater? Cal?"

"Not quite so lucky," said Cal, taking her hand and kissing it. "Your grandmother told us you would be aboard while your charming sister remains in Philadelphia. I didn't know you'd be in the same corridor, however."

In an effort to keep up the façade that she was quite pleased to see them, despite the fact that she didn't really know them, she kissed Rose on both cheeks and then did the same to Ruth. In truth, Cate found Ruth to be a bit stuck-up, a quality that was only amplified by her friendship with Cate's grandmother, Beth. Rose, however, was nice enough, though she had always been a bit aloof. Cal was always a kind, suave gentleman whom all of the young women had desired before he had chosen Rose.

"I didn't know you would be here at all," said Cate. "I thought your excursion in Europe didn't end until May?"

Cal smiled and gestured around him. "Who could resist ending their vacation early for a chance to sail on the maiden voyage of the _Titanic_?" he said.

"Indeed," Cate replied with a vague smile. "Anyway, I mustn't hold you up."

"Perhaps you could join us for dinner in the saloon this evening?" Ruth suggested. "At six?"

 _And so it begins_ , Cate thought rather miserably, _a life of smiling daintily and socializing with people I barely know._

"Of course," said Cate. "Thank you very much, I should be delighted."

When they said goodbye, Cate continued on her way out to the staircase. Plenty of First Class passengers were milling about, but no one was boarding at the moment as the hour of departure grew closer. The same officer from before was still taking tickets, but this time he was joined by another officer, whom Cate recognized. James.

"I'm off to close the gangway on E-Deck," he was saying.

"And you came all the way here to tell me this?" the other officer said, looking fairly suspicious.

James shrugged innocently. "I thought I should tell my superior—"

The officer smirked. "You're sixth officer, James; _everyone_ is your superior."

James opened his mouth to retort when he finally saw Cate. She had tried hard not to watch him and so found herself staring so intently at the grand staircase that it was as if she was trying to decide if it was made of teak or pine. But she felt his gaze on her and turned to look at him, a small smile creeping onto her face. The other officer looked from James to her and back again, comprehension dawning.

"Ah," he said shortly. There were no more First Class passengers boarding at the moment, and so strode over to her, his hand held out. "Miss Alton, is it?" he said, his accent a beautiful Welsh. He had a kind face with a boyish mischievousness that so reminded her of James. "I'm Fifth Officer Harold Lowe."

Cate shook his hand, feeling rather flustered. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lowe," she said.

Mr. Lowe glanced around and, when he spoke again, it was in undertone. "Neither Will nor James speaks of anything but you," he said, "separately, of course. But it's quite unmanageable. You should be quite flattered that neither of them are able to think of anything else."

Cate felt the heat rush to her face. She was certain she was bright red. Indeed, even though James couldn't hear them from where he stood at the gangway door, he looked rather mortified. She was afraid that, if she tried to speak, it would just come out as a squeak. Luckily, she was saved the necessity of a response by an arrogant-looking woman with a Pomeranian in her arms walking forward to ask Mr. Lowe a question. Cate made to step away, but James walked swiftly over to her.

"I'm sorry about him," he muttered, jerking his head at his companion. "Harold's just trying to be funny, although he's not very good at it. Not as good as I am, at any rate."

Cate laughed faintly but said nothing.

"Look, I'm quite busy now, but will you meet me tomorrow evening on the First Class promenade on A-Deck? At eight? You'll be done with dinner by then, won't you?"

"I…" Cate sputtered, "yes, I suppose I will, but…"

When James looked into her eyes, Cate felt like he was staring into the depths of her soul. She suppressed a shiver. "So will you meet me?" he asked.

"Yes," Cate whispered.

James nodded once and walked off down the stairs to C-Deck and eventually, she presumed, to E-Deck. Cate stared after him for a moment before looking at Harold Lowe, who had returned to his post. He, along with a couple other men, were in the process of closing the gangway door. Letting out a breath, feeling like she had just run a race, Cate continued on her way and started up the stairs.

Cate breathed in the cool, fresh air when she reached the boat deck on the port side, facing the pier. Every inch of space was filled by other First Class passengers who had come to wave goodbye to their loved ones. A great cheer seemed to swell over the ship and on the dock when a loud whistle sounded. Cate managed to squeeze her way to the rail and look out Southampton, not sure when she would see it again. Rising above the smaller buildings, half a mile away, was the South Western Hotel perched on its corner across from the park. Unintelligible words were shouted back and forth and people waved and waved. And then suddenly, as smoothly as if she hadn't been stopped at all, the _Titanic_ began moving, pulled by small tugboats. Part of Cate wanted to wave and laugh, but the stronger, more disciplined part of her realized how foolish this would be. She knew absolutely no one. At the moment, her whole life was aboard the ship.

"We're on our way home, darling," said a woman beside Cate to her husband. Glancing over, she saw that the woman had a young girl her arms, no more than two years old, while her husband held a baby boy. It took her a moment, but Cate realized why she recognized them: they were the Hudson and Bess Allison; Mr. Allison was a wealthy stockbroker in Montréal, where Cate had visited occasionally with her grandmother, who was from there. Cate had not seen them in years, not since just after their wedding. They appeared to be quite happy with their two children. Cate said nothing, though, not sure if they would remember her. Instead, she turned back to watch the pier slide away from them.

Gradually, the passengers began to filter back indoors. Cate felt lost, not sure what to do with herself. She wanted to go back to her stateroom, but she didn't want to get in Esther's way. And it was almost five hours until she would meet the Hockley party for dinner. Looking to her left, fairly close by she saw a white gate with a sign posted that said "CREW ONLY." She knew that, beyond it, was the officers' promenade and, eventually, the bridge itself where her father and James would be hard at work.

Cate strolled along the port side of the boat deck, glancing every now and then at the coast of England as they made their way to Cherbourg to pick up more passengers. When would she see Britain again, whether England or her beloved Scotland? Probably not for years, she realized, if she was indeed ever able to return again. It was then that she was struck by the realization that the _Titanic_ was on her way toward America, toward the life Cate had never wanted but was thrust upon her anyway. Lillian thrived in high society, but Cate balked, always wishing she could retreat to the emerald hills of her home, to the loving embrace of her family there. But now that life was gone forever. Part of Cate wanted to try to make the most of it, but how? She was startled to feel tears welling in her eyes, and she quickly turned away from the railing toward the crew barricade, struggling to compose herself.

The majority of the passengers had, by now, filtered off to explore other parts of the ship or to stroll further down the boat deck, leaving Cate relatively alone. She could still hear voices in the distance, but there was no one in the immediate vicinity. What she wanted more than anything at that moment was to see her father and be reassured that everything would be alright, but she knew he was busy, far too busy to be disturbed by her. She assumed he was on the bridge or in the wheelhouse, but she couldn't be sure. And just because she was the first officer's daughter, did that mean she had the right to ignore the "CREW ONLY" sign and stride on through the gate?

"Catey?"

As if he had read her mind, it was Will walking toward her behind the gate, a look of concern on his face. He looked to be in his element, though, in his pristine uniform with its brass buttons down the front and the hat with the White Star Line emblem. Will was doing what he loved, living his life on the sea on the grandest ship in the world. It was certainly an achievement to be an officer aboard the _Titanic_ 's maiden voyage, even if he had been bumped down from his original spot as Chief Officer. In truth, she had never felt more proud of her father than she did at that moment.

Cate sniffed and plastered a smile onto her face, one she was sure he saw through in an instant. "Hello, Da," she said, walking toward him so only the white gate separated them. "Working hard?"

"You're upset," said Will, frowning. "Whatever is the matter, lass?"

"Nothing," Cate lied quickly, too quickly. He looked at her suspiciously. She cleared her throat. "Are you on duty?" she asked. "I don't want to hold you up."

"Yes, technically," said Will, glancing around. As they sailed further into the English Channel, the coastline of England herself was starting to drift away. "Although it'll be all hands on deck until we reach Cherbourg tonight and then Queenstown tomorrow."

"I'll let you get on," said Cate, starting to turn away.

Will grabbed her arm swiftly. "Catey, what is it?" he asked. "I never know what you're thinking anymore."

Where could she even start? She could dredge up the same old argument of her not wanting to live permanently in Philadelphia, she could tell him how much she hated to be sailing further and further away from Scotland and the family she adored, she could tell him her confused feelings about James and her plans to meet with him the following evening (although this was unlikely), or she could keep it far simpler.

"I just…" she said slowly. "It's hard being alone, that's all. Usually I had Lillian with me, but now I just feel like a piece of paper drifting in the wind or something."

Will relaxed a bit. "I never thought I would hear you longing for your sister's company," he teased with a smile. "She'll be delighted. Why not relax for a bit before dinner? Have you explored much? Seen the library and the writing room? The gymnasium? The _Titanic_ is a whole world for you to discover, Cate."

"I know," Cate said. "I've already arranged to have dinner with some people I know from Philadelphia. Perhaps I'll go read for a while."

When she said goodbye to her father, Cate felt, if possible, even worse than before. She had hoped that seeing him would cheer her up, but it did no such thing. He was so happy, so alive on the sea, but she felt as if she was trapped in an iron and glass prison. Will called the _Titanic_ a "whole world," but it didn't extend very far in any direction. With some resignation, she sighed and headed back into the room with the grand staircase, underneath its great, glass dome, and back down the stairs.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Thanks for the continued reviews, favs, and follows! Because it's been so long, I've decided to upload two chapters at once! Enjoy! -PB**

 **Chapter Seven**

 _Wednesday, April 10, 1912_

The Reading and Writing Room was, essentially, a place for the women of First Class to retreat, the equivalent of the men's Smoking Room. While the Writing Room was paneled in white with lush, red carpet and pink curtains hanging over the large, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out at the First Class promenade deck. There were numerous writing desks, tables with chairs, and sofas and armchairs, full of feminine ambience. When Cate entered, she found that it was completely empty, warmed by an imitation fireplace along the back wall, with a slight humming in the air due to, she presumed, close proximity to a boiler. The silence, save for muffled voices out at the staircase or in the corridor, was rather disconcerting. Cate had never heard such silence on a ship before.

Feeling as if she was disturbing a funeral or something equally grave, Cate crept over to one of the writing desks at the back of the room, opposite the large windows. She had gone to her stateroom to find Esther in the middle of unpacking, humming Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine to herself as she marched back and forth from the main cabin to the wardrobe. Her teddy bear, William, had already been removed from where he had been nestled in one of the steamer trunks and was waiting for her on the desk. After assuring Esther that it was perfectly fine that she had not yet finished unpacking, Cate had retrieved her diary from the Chinese sewing box and left once more, heading back up the staircase to A-Deck.

Yet now, sitting at the writing desk, the small diary open before her, a fountain pen poised in her left hand (she had refused to switch when her governess in Philadelphia and the teachers in Oxford had tried to force her), she found herself at a loss for words. She had written the date, but what else could she say? So much had happened since she had last written, which had been when she had received a letter from her father apologizing again for missing Christmas, but saying that in a month's time he would be Chief Officer aboard the _Titanic_ for her maiden voyage. And now, a month later, Cate found herself on that very ship. She had left the only true home she had ever known, her beloved family, and was heading toward the unknown in America.

 _James_. Cate had written his name before she realized what she was doing. The word stared back up at her as if James' blue eyes looking in between the strokes of the pen. Why was it he made her feel the way she did? She felt all sorts of butterflies whenever his face appeared in her mind's eye, and felt fireworks exploding within her whenever he was near. Certainly, she had found men attractive before, but it had never felt like this. She couldn't wait to meet him tomorrow, but at the same, she was terrified as to what might happen.

When she heard the door open behind her, Cate snapped the diary shut so quickly that it was as if she was trying to kill an insect trapped inside. She quickly rose to her feet and looked at the new arrivals, a young woman who looked to be about her own age and an older woman, both with light brown hair.

"Oh, hello," the middle-aged woman said pleasantly when they realized they were not alone. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, Miss…"

"Alton," Cate said, putting on her best, polite smile. "Cate Alton." She felt a slight satisfaction at being able to introduce herself as "Cate" and not forced to endure her grandmother insisting that everyone call her "Catharine." "You're not disturbing me, I assure you. I was just getting a little writing done."

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Alton," said the younger woman, looking perfectly amicable. "I'm Helen Newsom and this is my mother, Sarah Beckwith. We're on our way back home after touring Europe."

Helen and Mrs. Beckwith moved further into the room, taking seats upon an elegant settee near the center. Not wanting to be rude, Cate had no choice but to join them, sitting down across from them.

"And how did you find Europe?" Cate asked.

"Beautiful," said Helen. "Although I'm glad to be going home."

"I'm sure you are," Mrs. Beckwith muttered. "So you can see that man—"

"Yes, thank you, Mother," Helen interrupted loudly, forcing a pleasant smile on her face. She turned back to Cate. "Are you English?" she asked. "What brings you to America?"

"I'm not English, actually," said Cate, gearing herself up for another long-winded conversation about where she hailed from. "Well, I am in part, I suppose."

Helen and her mother looked rather surprised. "But you sound as if you're from Oxford," said the latter.

"I attended school there for about eight years," Cate explained. "My grandfather is English, but he and my grandmother live in Philadelphia. My grandmother is French-Canadian, however."

"My, what a history," said Mrs. Beckwith. "And what brought you to Europe? Are you traveling alone?"

"I am, yes," said Cate, now treading carefully. "I was… touring Scotland. I… have ancestors there."

"On your grandfather's side, I suppose?"

Well, it wasn't a complete lie if Cate was speaking of her paternal grandfather. "Yes, that's right."

"How lovely," said Mrs. Beckwith, smiling. "You must join us for dinner one evening, Cate, and tell us more about your fascinating history. I'm afraid we're already engaged to dine with the Astors, who are boarding in Cherbourg, but perhaps tomorrow we can get together in the Café Parisien!"

"That would be lovely," said Cate, "thank you."

"Well," said Mrs. Beckwith, sitting back on the settee, "I think I'd like to get some reading done. Why don't you two girls take a walk on the First Class promenade to get to know one another?"

Cate and Helen met one another's gaze with a slight smirk, both understanding that they were dismissed. They did as they were told, however, and left the room, going back past the grand staircase and to the left, out the door and onto the sheltered promenade deck.

"I'm sorry about my mother," said Helen as they strolled along at a leisurely pace. "She's quite used to getting her own way and sometimes forget that she can't tell everyone what to do." "It's quite alright," Cate assured her. "My grandmother is the same way, just not nearly as likable."

Helen laughed. As they continued down the promenade deck, occasionally peering into the large windows of the Lounge, which was a veritable French palace with its ornate furnishings and lighting, and into the Smoking Room, giggling about how serious the men looked with their brandy and cigars, already eager to discuss money and politics at two o'clock in the afternoon on the first day of the voyage. Cate learned more about Helen Newsom as they walked, that she was nineteen years old and traveling with her mother and stepfather, Richard Beckwith, as her own father had died some eleven years previously. Helen also had an elder brother, William, who was back home in Manhattan, though they were originally from Ohio.

"My father's name is William," Cate said before she could stop herself. She began cursing violently in her head, hoping she could come up with an adequate story that wouldn't make Helen too suspicious. How was she supposed to manage this? The story that her grandmother, Beth, had come up with didn't line up with Cate and Lillian having a father named William.

"Is it?" said Helen, sounding mildly interested. "You've not mentioned your parents before now, only your grandparents."

"Yes, well," Cate said vaguely, trying to think of how much of the truth to tell and how much of the false story that everyone usually heard, "my mother died when I was five, you see. So we were raised by her own parents."

"And your father?" Helen sounded politely curious, not like she was prying. But still. Cate wished she had kept her mouth shut.

"He…" He's the first officer on this very ship, Cate thought miserably, wishing she didn't have to hide him. But she knew this would not be good. She had been trained with a completely different story. "He died before I was born. His… his name was actually John. John Widdick, that is. But everyone called him William."

Well, at least that was mostly the truth. Cate's mother, Sophie, had indeed been married to a man named John Widdick who had died just before Sophie had met Will Murdoch in Liverpool, and Adam and Beth had pressed the story that poor Sophie, only seventeen years old at the time, had given her children to be raised by Beth's sister, Josephine, in Montréal until she was able to care for them herself, being rather delicate in health her whole life. (Indeed, Sophie had suffered from bouts of tuberculosis throughout her childhood, considerably weakening her lungs, so that much was true.) After Sophie died, the Altons told the world, they brought her two daughters back to live with them in Philadelphia, so as to have a piece of their own child with them again.

"Funny, isn't it?" Helen remarked. "It seems that so many people name their child something, all the while with the intent of calling them something completely different. My mother's name is Sarah, but no one has called her that in her whole life; everyone calls her Sallie."

The two women continued once more around the promenade deck to the starboard side of the ship, every once and a while stopping to look out at the scenery of the English Channel's gray waters or to peer inside at the Verandah and Palm Court with its black and white checkered flooring, the whicker furnishings, and the faux vines winding around the walls. Everything about First Class was beautiful, but Cate couldn't help but wonder if those who were able to partake in its beauty truly appreciated it or simply believed that it was what they deserved and could have nothing less. Why was it that so many people would hate to travel across the Atlantic unless it was in a veritable palace?

The _Titanic_ arrived in Cherbourg at about five-thirty that evening as the sun lowered down into the horizon. It was an unwritten rule that no one changed for dinner on the first night of a voyage, and so though Cate returned to her stateroom, she merely sat at the vanity for Esther to remove her hat and to fix any stray strands of hair. When she was presentable, she stood for a bit at the end of her bed, looking out the rectangular window. As her cabin was on the ship's port side, she was able to look out at the coast of France, at la Cité de la Mer. She had been there to visit once whilst traveling through Europe with her grandparents one summer, but they had only docked in Cherbourg and driven through the city in three separate cars—Adam and Beth in one, Cate and Lillian in another, and their valet and two lady's maids in the third.

"Have you ever been to France?" Cate asked as Esther walked to the wardrobe to place the hat back in its box.

"No, miss," said Esther, walking back into the cabin. "Have you?"

"Once," said Cate. "Three years ago when Grandfather and Grand-mère took us on a tour of Europe. I think that was before they hired you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Esther. "I was still in England at the time working for the Collingwood family."

Cate tore her eyes from the beautiful city outside her window and looked at her maid.

"What made you leave, if you don't mind me asking?"

Esther shrugged. "A change of scenery, I suppose, miss. I met Lord Cowanshire's valet,

Charles Fletcher, when they were visiting the Collingwood estate, and it seemed like a good opportunity. If you recall, Lady Cowanshire wanted you and Lillian to each have your own lady's maid once you had made your debut, so I went with Lord Cowanshire and Mr. Fletcher back to America. It was a real step up, as I had only been head housemaid before for the Collingwoods." "Ah, of course," Cate said thoughtfully. "I refused to have a lady's maid at that time, so Jane continued assisting me until I left for Scotland." Jane was the head housemaid at the mansion in Philadelphia.

"Yes, miss," Esther confirmed with a nod. "But then Miss Lillian decided she… well, she decided she would rather have a lady's maid hired for her by Mr. Norcross, so I came here to join you."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to have you," Cate said with a smile. She glanced at the pocket watch hidden in her beaded bag and sighed. It was time for dinner.

After saying goodbye to Esther, Cate left the stateroom. She half-expected to see the Hockley party in the corridor, as their own parlor suite was only four doors down. Indeed, Cate hadn't even realized that Rose, Ruth, and Cal were staying in one of the two parlor suits until Mrs. Beckwith revealed it when they met up with her a little later in the afternoon. Apparently it was a wide topic of conversation already, as only the richest of the rich could afford them. They were much larger than normal cabins, Mrs. Beckwith told them, in that they were two staterooms, a sitting room, and even a private promenade deck.

The grand staircase on B-Deck was a flurry of activity as a large number of passengers boarded from a smaller boat that had pulled up to _Titanic's_ side. There was an officer at the gangway door taking tickets, but it was neither James nor Mr. Lowe. Cate recognized a few of the passengers here and there… John Jacob Astor and his new wife, Madeline, who was Cate's own age and whose marriage had caused quite a scandal in society due to their age difference; Margaret Brown, a woman from Missouri whose husband had recently struck gold and who, Cate had heard from her grandfather, was good at shaking things up; and the Ryersons, a family whom Cate knew well. The Rysersons lived in Haverford, not fifteen minutes from Cate's home in Philadelphia.

When Emily Ryerson, their second daughter, saw Cate, she smiled and hurried over. Emily was about the same age as she, and they were in the same circle. There was something about her smile, however. She looked tired.

"Hello, Cate," she said. "How nice to see you."

"Hello, Emily," Cate replied. "I didn't know you'd be here."

She glanced past her friend at the rest of her family. Mrs. Ryerson was pale, Mr. Ryerson's jaw was clenched, and twenty-one-year-old Suzette and thirteen-year-old John looked just as tired and upset.

"Is everything quite alright?" Cate asked, concerned.

Emily smiled sadly. "I'm afraid not," she said. "You wouldn't have heard, of course. But my brother, Arthur, was in a car crash just a little while ago. He… didn't make it. We booked tickets to return home as soon as we found out."

For a moment, Cate felt as if all the wind had been knocked from her lungs. Arthur had been young, only twenty years old. They had danced together multiple times since Cate's debut in September, with Arthur finally joking that if they danced together at Emily's debut in late October then people would start to talk. He had been sweet and very smart.

"Oh," Cate said softly. "Oh, Emily, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It's quite alright, of course," said Emily. "No one on board knows, really. I think Mother and Father would prefer to keep it that way, actually."

"Of course," said Cate, nodding.

"Ellen is still at home," Emily said, speaking of her sixteen-year-old sister. "Poor thing, she's been a wreck according to a letter our aunt sent us." She quickly shook her head. "Anyway, I don't mean to cast a shadow on you, Cate. Have a good dinner."

Before Cate could respond, Emily was gone, following her parents down the stairs to C-Deck. Cate stared after her, wishing she could have said something helpful, wishing she could do something. She didn't really like her own sister, but she couldn't imagine being without her. Lillian had always been a part of her life and always would be. The same should have been true for Arthur Ryerson.

Cate met Rose, Ruth, and Cal in the D-Deck Reception Room, the large room outside of the Dining Saloon with its green and whicker furnishings and its wooden grand piano nestled in the corner. It was a strange sight to see so many wealthy people milling about, preparing to enter dinner, yet none of them dressed to the nines as they would normally be. Cate herself felt odd in her day clothes, as if she was about to be scolded by her grandmother at any moment for not being properly dressed.

As she approached, Cal reached forward and kissed her hand. Cate smiled at this typical, familiar greeting of a man to a woman, but she shivered inwardly at the thought of James doing it instead. Then she mentally slapped herself and greeted Ruth and Rose, the latter of whom still looked fairly cold and annoyed. As they walked into the Dining Saloon, Cal and Ruth talked on and on about how marvelous the ship was and how beautiful their parlor suite was, but Cate was distracted by Rose; they had never been friends, but Cate had never seen her look so down.

"How have you been, Rose?" Cate asked, letting Cal and Ruth walk ahead of them as they were led to their table in the Saloon.

Rose looked surprised that someone was addressing her. "Fine," she said vaguely, not smiling. "How was your stay with your family?"

Cate's brow furrowed. How on earth could Rose know that she had been with her paternal family? "My family?" she repeated.

For the first time, an emotion crossed Rose's beautiful features: that of confusion.

"Yes," she said. "Your grandmother said in her letter to my mother that you were visiting Lord Cowanshire's family in England."

Of course. One cover-up after another. Cate should have realized; that was the Altons usual story for why she and Lillian were never around for Christmas and only every other summer or so. Adam's actual family, however, the Altons in Wiltshire, had only met them once three years ago.

"Oh, right," Cate said quickly. "Of course, I'm sorry. I'm being absent-minded." "Hello, Miss Alton."

Thomas Andrews was walking toward them now, a kind smile upon his face. Cal and Ruth stopped in their tracks to see this new arrival, and Cate was quick to play the temporary hostess.

"Mr. Andrews," she said, smiling as he kissed her hand, "it's a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce Mr. Cal Hockley—"

"Cal, please," said Cal, giving a dapper smile as they shook hands. "Mrs. Ruth Dewitt Bukater—"

"How do you do?"

"And her daughter, Rose."

Mr. Andrews smiled at all of them. Cate paused for a moment before realizing she had to finish the introduction.

"This is Mr. Thomas Andrews," she said, looking at the other three. "He built the _Titanic_."

Cal, Rose, and Ruth looked extremely impressed, but Mr. Andrews chuckled.

"Miss Alton is exaggerating a bit," he said. "Many fine men in Ireland built her. I designed her."

After Ruth invited Mr. Andrews to join them, Cate suddenly felt herself freeze: Mr. Andrews knew the truth. He knew that she hadn't spent Christmas and the following months in Wiltshire with her rich, semi-noble family, but that she had been with her working class family in the Scottish countryside, that her father wasn't some rich man who had died in a car crash before she was born, but a man still very much alive, and on that very ship as the first officer. God, what if he told them the truth? Cate truly didn't think he would be malicious, but what if he thought it was common knowledge and let it slip? And to Ruth Dewitt Bukater of all people, the woman with Philadelphia's biggest mouth. Cate would be ruined and her grandmother would kill her.

But as dinner went on, with the two men doing most of the talking, the subject never came up. Whenever Mr. Andrews looked at her, it was with a gentle smile, one she couldn't help but trust.

"How is it you all know one another?" Mr. Andrews asked halfway through the meal. They were sitting at a round table near the center of the large room, which was mostly empty. Cate figured that most people were still unpacking or had decided to take trays in their cabins. "You two are engaged, of course," he continued, nodding at Rose and Cal, who sat on either side of Cate. "But you've met Miss Alton beforehand?"

"We're all from Philadelphia," said Rose, speaking for the first time since they had sat down, looking over at her. "Cate and I have some of the same friends and we made our debuts around the same time."

"And what a coincidence you should all be traveling on the same voyage," said Mr. Andrews.

Cate looked at Rose, but she had already looked back down at her food as the conversation drifted elsewhere. It was interesting, Cate thought, that the two had never been close despite their slight age difference. Rose had said they had some of the same friends, but Cate hadn't been under the impression that either of them had had many friends at all.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Oops! I just realized that Chapter Eight was missing a very large chunk! So here it is in its entirety. Sorry about that! If you don't want to re-read everything, the new addition begins after Cate says goodbye to her father on the Boat Deck. -PB**

 **Chapter Eight**

 _Monday, July 13, 1903_

Whenever he looked at his girls, he saw Sophie. Jane, his mother, insisted that Lilly and Catey bore his likeness in every way, as if he was their triplet. They had inherited his hair and his eyes, perhaps, but the little pout of their lower lips when they didn't get their way was Sophie's; the way they peered up at him from underneath their long lashes was Sophie; the Lilly's authoritativeness was Sophie (and possibly Sophie's mother, Beth); Catey's lark-like voice when she sang was Sophie. That a woman with such dark hair and eyes could bear two fair-haired, blue-eyed daughters was strange, but Will had known from the moment he saw them that they were his. His and his alone.

Almost eleven years had passed since he had first seen Sophie Alton, the beautiful young woman who had so captured him on that snowy day in Liverpool, yet it was as if he saw her every day in their daughters.

Will smiled at the thought of them, his Lillian and his Catharine. He was conscious of the fact that, with every passing second, he grew closer and closer to where they waited. They had arrived home from their first year of boarding school several weeks ago, but he was only just now able to set foot back on solid land after traveling from one continent to another. He had finally been transferred to the transatlantic crossing, every officer's dream, as it meant passages aboard the most luxurious ships afloat. If only the horses would go any faster….

His father, Samuel, smiled at his impatience. Will had been met at the train station in Dalbeattie, and though Samuel had suggested a round at the pub before heading home, Will simply couldn't wait any longer to see his little girls. It had been far too long since he had seen them, he felt, though they had all been home for Christmas. He had so much to tell them, and he wanted to hear everything about their first year in Oxford at the prestigious academy their grandparents had sent them to….

"We're almost there, lad," Samuel assured his son with a chuckle, though Will knew the route from town to his family's cluster of cottages like the back of his hand. "Your bairns are waiting for you at your place."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, a cottage appeared in the distance after they came to the rise of the last hill. He had grown up in this area, nestled between the river and the woods. When his elder brother, James, had married, they had built themselves a cottage nearby, and then his elder sister, Mary, and her husband had done the same. But for William, whose heart, like his father's, remained on the sea, it had seemed unlikely that he would remain in Dalbeattie for long. Then he had met Sophie Alton. The home that had been built for Will and his two beloved daughters, though now rarely occupied, was large and spacious, perched atop an emerald hill, not far from any of the other homes, the front looking out at the woods and the back at the River Urr, which snaked all throughout Dumfries and Galloway.

As the carriage approached, he heard the shouts of his nieces and nephews calling, "Uncle Will is home! Uncle Will is home!" The carriage had barely pulled to stop when Will jumped down and was set upon by Lydia, Jane, and Alastair, some of the youngest of the children, running out from behind the cottage. He greeted each of them individually, marveling at how much the children had grown in just the few short months he had been away.

Will looked up when his father nudged him. Standing in the doorway of his home were two young girls, identical to the last freckle. Their long, honey-colored hair hung down their backs and they wore the same radiant smile. It only took the span of a heartbeat for Cate and Lillian to jolt from the doorway and for Will to meet them halfway and take them into his waiting arms. He held them close, alternating kisses atop their heads, exclaiming how much he had missed them, whispering "My Catey," into the first girl's hair and "My Lilly," into the second's, just so they would know that he, unlike their classmates and their own grandparents in Philadelphia, had no trouble telling them apart.

"But, Mama, I want a hug from Uncle Will, too," three-yer-old Alastair whined, tugging his mother's skirts before Mary shushed him, smiling at her brother and his girls.

The small family of three wasn't alone together until that evening, after a large feast at Will's parents' house, after greeting his siblings and their families, after hearing about every little thing that had happened to his nieces and nephews since December. A fire was lit in the grate and Will sat in his favorite armchair with a daughter on each knee, snuggled up to his chest. They were ten now, perhaps too old for cuddles from their father, but Will hoped they wouldn't realize this for a little while longer.

"I missed you, Da," Cate whispered after they had sat in silence for a while, listening to the warm crackling from the fire.

Will pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I missed you, too, my little dreamer." Lillian tipped her head back to look up at her father. "Am I still your Lilly petal?" she asked, almost accusingly.

Will smiled. "Of course, you are."

Catharine slid silently from her father's lap, then, and moved to sit down in front of the hearth, picking at a stray thread on her dress. Will watched her, so he didn't see Lillian rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

"How long are you staying, Da?" Cate asked before he could ask her why she'd left.

"For the rest of the summer," Will replied. "I'm going to take the train with you girls back to Oxford and continue onto Southampton from there."

"I wish we could go back now," Lillian said with a sigh of longing. She stood and walked to the sofa on the other side of the room, where she collapsed dramatically onto it.

Will was hurt, but he said nothing. He was glad his daughter was excited for school… even if it meant she wanted to skip their visit entirely to go back. At least Cate looked properly horrified by what her sister had said.

"How can you say that?" she demanded. "I don't ever want to go back." "Well, you have to!" Lillian said in a sing-song voice.

"Why don't you want to go back, Catey?" Will asked, raising his voice a bit so she could hear him over Lillian's loud, cheerful humming.

Cate looked at him. "I want to stay here," she said, "with you."

Will was gutted. He opened his mouth to respond, but Lillian cut across him.

"Catey's just mad because she doesn't have any friends," she said matter-of-factly. "I have lots of friends. And the only subjects she's good at are French and music, which are boring!"

"Lillian," Will said warningly. But he saw that Cate's eyes had filled with tears. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but he also needed to talk to Lillian and scold her for being rude to her sister. He sighed, wondering why he had thought having two daughters so different from one another would become easier as they grew older.

Later, as he tucked his daughters into their beds, Cate asked, "Da, will you tell us a story?" It was something she had asked him often, but less and less as she grew older. Lillian often complained that they were too old for stories, but whenever he told them one from his seafaring adventures, he could always see how interested she was. Indeed, she lifted her head from her pillow a bit, moving aside the soft toy in the shape of a bear, the "teddy bear" he had gotten each girl from New York last week. Will smiled. He knew exactly which story to tell; it was one he had been eager to tell them from the moment it happened.

"It was late and storming," he began. Cate, clutching her new teddy bear, watched him, her eyes wide. "It was just last month that it happened, in the middle of the Atlantic. It was so dark that we couldn't see the ocean beneath us. It was as if we were sliding on glass." He described, as dramatically as he could, how aboard the S.S. _Arabic_ as the second officer he and his other crewmembers had seen a ship emerging from the darkness like a phantom. His superior, Officer Fox, had ordered them to turn hard-a-port but Will could see that that would lead to a collision. It was against everything he had been taught, to follow the orders he had been commanded, but he had pushed aside the quartermaster and disobeyed Officer Fox to hold the wheel and keep the ship on course. The other ship had passed within inches of them; if they had turned like Officer Fox had wanted, they would have collided.

"How did you know what to do?" Lillian asked, her eyes wide as coins.

Will thought a moment before shrugging. "I just did," he replied. "I realized that the other ship had the same plan as Officer Fox: to go to their left and our right, which meant we would crash. And I knew I couldn't allow us to crash, but I needed to get home to you girls."

"No matter what," he said as he kissed both girls on the forehead, "I will always do whatever it takes to come home to you."

 _Thursday, April 11, 1912_

All anyone could talk about, it seemed, was the fact that they were on the _Titanic_. It was amazing, the largest ship ever to set sail, the most luxurious palace drifting along the water. They were on board, and the passengers could speak of nothing else. And Cate knew that as soon as everyone disembarked in New York, they would speak of nothing but the fact that they had sailed on the _Titanic_.

"Four funnels, can you believe it, but the last is just for show!"

"Twenty-four double-ended boilers and five single-ended ones! That's incredible!"

Cate caught snatches of conversation as she strolled along the boat deck the next morning. It was chilly, and she imagined that most first-class passengers would prefer the relatively more sheltered promenade one deck blow, but Cate liked to see the sky, the gray ocean lapping against the hull of the great ship. As bitter as she had been about having to sail to America, leaving her home in Scotland behind, she couldn't deny that _Titanic_ was absolutely breathtaking. And she had always felt at home on the sea, even though it had always just been passage from one home to another throughout her life. Esther had been most surprised when Cate requested that she be woken at seven o'clock, but Cate wanted to profit as much as possible from the voyage before she reached New York and everything changed….

It was as she drew up alongside the forward lifeboats that she saw him. James stood talking animatedly to another officer who had his back turned. Cate stopped in her tracks and watched him, unable to stop a smile from creeping onto her face as he described something with a great waving of arms and flourishing of hands. With the wind moving in the opposite direction, she couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but evidently it was enough to make the other officer shake his head. When James finally caught sight of her watching him, he seemed to freeze, his mouth hanging open mid-speech, his arms out as if he was describing something large. It was quite comical to behold. The other officer turned and Cate saw it was Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, whom Cate had met the previous day near the grand staircase. Instead of smiling, though, he frowned, nodded shortly, and strolled off toward the bridge.

Cate's smile faltered. James finally relaxed his arms, closed his gaping mouth, and walked over to where she stood, glancing briefly back at his friend as he departed.

"Did I do something?" Cate asked nervously, looking over James' shoulder at Harold's retreating figure.

"Good morning to you, too," said James, sounding perfectly cheerful despite his friend's abrupt departure. "How have you been enjoying the voyage thus far?"

"Are you avoiding my question?"

"You look beautiful, if it's not too bold to say."

Cate sighed, but her heart fluttered at the compliment and she smiled again in spite of herself. "Thank you," she said. "Truly. But… what's the matter with your friend? Why did he leave so suddenly?"

James frowned a bit, glancing over his shoulder once more, though Mr. Lowe was nowhere to be seen. "Harold?" he said. "He's going on duty. It's eight o'clock, after all; I just clocked out." Cate wasn't convinced. "But you seemed to be having a grand old time until he saw me," she insisted. "You were gesticulating all over the place."

"He…" James sighed and shook his head. "He was lecturing me earlier, to be honest, when I told him I was meeting you later."

"Oh." Cate felt her cheeks burn. It was an innocent meeting, she had told herself all night, so two friends could get to know each other better. So why did she feel so guilty whenever she thought of what her father might say if he knew? "Was it more of the 'crew shouldn't spend time with passengers,' nonsense that my father keeps spouting, because technically you won't be on duty then, will you—"

"I don't think that excuse will work anymore, Cate," James said quietly. When he saw Cate's expression falter, however, he hastened to continue. "But I don't care," he said quickly. "I still want to see you tonight."

His words seemed to be so full of hidden meaning that Cate almost shivered.

"Why?" she said, glancing around, as if Will might appear at any moment and shove James overboard. "Whatever you've got to say can be said here, can't it?"

James licked his lips nervously. "Not yet," he replied. "Not here. I need to—oh, bloody— good day, Miss Alton."

James turned abruptly on his heel and headed back toward the bridge. Cate stared after him for a moment, utterly confused, until she heard her father speak behind her.

"Catharine," he said. When she turned slowly, she saw that he looked angry, which was to be expected. "How many times must I tell you—"

"Not to have a life?" Cate interrupted. "At least once more, Father, because it doesn't seem to have stuck."

"I don't want to argue with you—" "Nor I with you—"

"But you have got to listen to me," Will snapped. "Associating with Mr. Moody has gone on long enough. He is an officer and you are passenger, and that's all there is to it. Until _Titanic_ docks, you should not spare him more than a 'Good morning' in passing."

"What about you?" Cate demanded. "You're an officer, aren't you?"

"I am your father, first and foremost, which means you would do well to do what I say." Cate opened her mouth to reply but stopped. Standing not too far away was Cal Hockley, peering into the rippled window of the gymnasium. Immediately, Cate felt her insides twist with anxiety. How much had he heard, if anything? As far as she knew, Mr. Hockley wasn't the type of person to gossip, but if he knew that Catharine and Lillian Alton's real father was a ship's officer and not the late, rich John Widdick like their grandparents insisted... Almost as if he sensed her gaze, Cal looked over at them. He smiled and strolled over, his hands clasped behind his back, the same bowler hat on his head.

"Good morning, Catharine," he said, reaching forward to kiss her hand. Cate forced a smile. "Please, call me Cate," she said. "Good morning, Cal."

Will was looking from Cate to Cal, and as she opened her mouth to introduce them, Cate almost stumbled and called him "Father."

"Mr. Murdoch," she stammered, "this is Mr. Caledon Hockley, of Hockley Steel in Philadelphia. Cal, this is First Officer Murdoch. He and I were just… discussing the voyage."

Will smiled tightly. Cate could see easily that it wasn't genuine, but perhaps that was simply because she knew him so well. If Cal had heard anything of their earlier exchange, he didn't let on in the slightest. He shook Will's hand and they talked briefly about the ship and how marvelous she was. Cate tried to smile and look interested, but inside she felt sick. She had never had to lie right in front of her father before. Mostly, when people asked about her father, she was very vague to prevent herself from needing to lie at all, but to deny him right in front of him…. She wanted to run and hide, but first-class manners would never allow such a thing. They discussed a bit of _Titanic_ and Cal's business, which he helped run with his father, Nathan, and then Cal left, tipping his hat to them. When he was gone and well out of earshot, Will turned back to his daughter.

"I'll call on you tonight," he said, "around eight. You'll be finished by dinner then, won't you?"

Eager not to argue anymore, Cate nodded. If they could put off fighting until later, that was perfectly alright with her.

"Good," said Will with a nod. "I'll come to your stateroom then."

He started to walk away, and Cate watched him go, but he stopped a few steps away and turned back to her.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked.

Never having been one to eat early in the morning, Cate shook her head. "Well, you should," said Will. "Breakfast is important, you know." He smiled a bit, finally, before turning and continuing on his way.

 _Titanic_ arrived at Queenstown, Ireland around eleven o'clock that morning. Many passengers gathered on the boat- and promenade decks to watch the much smaller ferries, the _P.S. Ireland_ and the _P.S. America_ take them to the grand ship that awaited them. Alongside the ferries were several much smaller vessels which, Cate saw after a while, carried vendors to sell local crafts and trinkets to first-class passengers.

"Look, now we can say we've visited Ireland," one woman simpered to her husband, holding up a lace doily that she had purchased.

"Oh, how very droll," a man, whom Cate assumed was her husband, chuckled before taking her arm and strolling away with her down the boat deck.

Cate peered over the railing to watch the ferries approach the _Titanic_ , completely dwarfed by her and shaded from the sun. Most of the passengers waiting to board, she saw, were third-class, with the exception of a couple in the very front, the woman wearing a fur coat and the man in a tweed suit, checking the time on a gold watch that hung from his breast pocket. While many of the people boarding in Southampton and Cherbourg had been cheerful, waving excitedly to the loved ones who remained on the pier, but most of the faces Cate saw now, from what she could see from so high a vantage point, were sad and forlorn. Some stared at the floor of the ferry, others gazed longingly at the Ireland they were leaving behind. As Cate watched them, a young woman in the ferry nearest looked up and their eyes met. Cate felt startled, but the young woman, wrapped in a shawl, red hair hanging at her shoulders, nudged the girl next to her and whispered something. When her companion looked up, as well, Cate withdrew from the railing and started down the boat deck, heading aft.

" _Look at that prissy rich girl watching us_ ," Cate could imagine the first girl saying, and she felt her face grow hot. "A prissy rich girl" truly was what she was, though it shouldn't be that way. If her maternal grandparents had never barged into their lives all those years ago, Cate would be traveling third-class just like the people on the ferries and the countless people below decks. Truly, though, she wouldn't have been traveling at all; she would be safe at home in Scotland.

By the time the _Titanic_ began steaming west along the coast of Ireland, Cate was heading to the à la carte restaurant to meet the Ryersons for luncheon. It felt strange to meet them knowing that their eldest son, Arthur, should be with them, yet they were hurrying to New York after his untimely death. And poor Ellen at home without her family, alone in her grief until the others arrived. But when she met the Ryersons in the restaurant, she found them looking better than they had the previous day. They greeted Cate warmly; only thirteen-year-old John, the youngest, was sullen, nodding his head shortly and not meeting her eyes. Cate knew that he had idolized his older brother.

"How are you?" Cate asked once they had all been seated. "Truly?"

It was Suzette who responded. "We're surviving," she said with a small smile. "We haven't told anyone else on board the reason for our return, so we must put on brave faces."

Mrs. Ryerson nodded. "We would appreciate your discretion, Catharine," she said. "We know how people can be prone to gossip."

"Of course," Cate said quickly. Her friend Emily smiled gratefully. John stared silently at his plate.

The Ryersons were a very prominent family in Philadelphia. Back home, Art's death would be all over the papers and everyone in polite society would know about it. But it was much more likely that on board the isolated ship, no one would know. It was not probable that news of the death of Art Ryerson in Pennsylvania would make it to Europe, and if it did, it would not arrive in time for any of the first-class passengers to hear it before boarding.

"Are you looking forward to your sister's wedding?" Mrs. Ryerson asked once they had all ordered from the waiter standing primly beside the table.

The conversation went on like that, talking about life at home… events in society like Lillian's wedding to Daniel Norcross and Cal Hockley and Rose Dewitt Bukater's wedding that June, not to mention Emily's coming out gala in May. Emily perked up when her ball was mentioned, talking about the gown that they had purchased in Paris specifically for the event, and how she hoped that Weston Zacharias would ask her to dance.

"He would be a fool not to ask you," Suzette assured her with a smile.

It was almost strange, Cate thought, to see two sisters who got along so well, who were even friends. It was the same for their younger sister, sixteen-year-old Ellen. Cate had seen it back home with her cousins and aunts and uncles, and she and Lillian had got along as best they could when they were young, but they had never been friends. And once they had started attending boarding school in Oxford, they had stopped getting along at all.

As that evening drew closer, Cate found herself growing more and more nervous. What did James want to tell her that he couldn't say on the Boat Deck earlier that day? Why was his friend, Harold, so disapproving of their meeting. _You_ know _why_ , a voice inside Cate's head insisted as she sat at the writing desk in her stateroom, her hand poised over her diary. _The same reason Da disapproves_. Cate swallowed. She was afraid to admit it to herself, even to write it down in her diary, the reason why she was meeting James later, and the reason he affected her so. Then, with a slightly trembling hand, she placed the tip of the fountain pen to the page and wrote, " _I think I have feelings for him_."

At that moment, the door to the cabin opened with a click and Esther walked in. Cate nearly yelped in alarm, slamming her diary shut and very nearly tossing it across the room, as if it was on fire. Esther stopped, alarmed, apologizing profusely before Cate finally managed to calm herself and assure the maid that all was well. Perhaps she had remembered what Lillian would have done if she had startled her so.

"Would you like to dress for dinner?" Esther asked, finally looking at ease once more when it was clear that Cate was not going to yell at her or fire her.

Cate glanced at the pocket watch in her beaded handbag. It was getting late; if she didn't dress now, Helen Newsom and her parents would wonder where she was. Sighing, Cate replaced the watch and nodded, being careful to gently return the diary to the Chinese sewing box.

Dinner with the Beckwiths at the Café Parisien proved to be a long, boring affair. They were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Astor and a curious group: Quigg Baxter and his mother, Hélène, and sister, Mary, from Montréal, and their companion, Berthe de Villiers, from Brussels.

"Catharine tells us she has French-Canadian blood," said Mrs. Beckwith when the Baxters revealed where the were from.

Madame and Mademoiselle Baxter smiled politely, but Monsieur Quigg's eyes lit up, and he smiled. "You 'ave been to Montréal?" he asked her.

"Yes," said Cate, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that all of the attention was on her. "I visit every so often, and I was born there, as a matter of fact."

Quigg's smile widened. " _Et parlez-vous français_?" he said. He was asking her if she spoke French. The others at the table looked politely perplexed, and Cate felt as if she had been put on the spot. French had certainly been one of her best subjects in school, but she was often so shy that she was unwilling to practice outside of the classroom.

" _Oui_ ," Cate replied timidly. " _Un peu_."

Quigg opened his mouth to respond eagerly, but his mother, Hélène, said gently, "Let us not leave out everyone from duh conversation," in her interesting accent, so different from that of France, but no less beautiful.

Madame Mayne, it turned out, was a Belgian cabaret singer, traveling to Montréal for the first time. She and Quigg had met in Brussels, but that was all they were willing to share. Hélène and Mary smiled tightly at the pair, but Quigg and Bertha looked at one another as if no other person existed. But then again, Cate wondered if she was merely projecting her own emotions on them.

As the conversation turned elsewhere, Cate found herself imagining James sitting with them, dressed to the nines in the proper dinner jacket and white bowtie worn by the other men. But the image was strange; she found it much easier to picture James in his officer's uniform or in the plain suit he had worn in the park that day. And as she did so, everyone else around them seemed to fade away so that it was only her and James sitting there with no one to disturb them.

"It is strange to me dat a young woman would travel alone," Quigg said later, looking at Cate. "'Ave you crossed dee Atlantic before dis voyage?"

Cate nodded. "Yes, many times," she replied. "Usually, I'm with my sister, but she stayed in Philadelphia while I visited Scotland."

Helen Newsom nodded. "You were visiting your father's family, were you not?"

But as Cate replied in the affirmative, Mr. Astor looked perplexed.

"I recall Ruth Dewitt Bukater saying that you were in England visiting family," he said, taking a drink of his wine. "Perhaps I misheard?"

A curse erupted in Cate's brain. Stories among the gossips of first-class were already beginning to cross. Of course, Cate's grandmother had told everyone that she was visiting family in England, as that was where Lord Cowanshire and Sophie's deceased husband were from, but Cate had slipped up and told Helen that she had been in Scotland. Anyone who had half a mind to good easily find out that Lord Cowanshire had no family nor ancestry in Scotland; as far as society was concerned, she was three-fourths English and one-quarter French-Canadian, with not an ounce of Scottish blood in her. Cate had never been good at thinking on her feet; that was always Lillian's forte: to come up with a lie in the span of a heartbeat.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Helen with a light laugh, when Cate didn't respond for a moment, "I had it mixed up: you were just touring Scotland after visiting your family in England, weren't you? How silly of me."

Cate's heart, which had felt like it was being squeezed by a vice, seemed to expand once more, and she realized she had been holding her breath. With a faint, grateful smile, Cate nodded. "Yes, that's it," she said, hastily taking a sip of wine. And as the conversation drifted to the beauty of England, Cate saw Helen wink at her.

After dinner, the men—Mr. Astor, Mr. Beckwith, and Quigg—retreated to the smoking room for a brandy while Mrs. Beckwith, Madame Baxter, Mary, and Madame Mayne filled their empty seats and sat closer together. Cate and Helen, however, excused themselves alongside the men. Quigg walked behind Cate and pulled out her chair for her before kissing her hand.

" _C'était un plaisir de vous rencontrer, mademoiselle_ ," he said, smiling his jovial smile. " _Si jamais vous auriez besoin d'une escorte, n'hésitez pas à me trouver_."

Cate smiled at his offer to be her escort, and she thanked him. Giggling slightly, Helen linked her arm with Cate's, and together they left the café.

"Thank you for that," Cate said as they climbed the grand staircase. She wanted to tell Helen why she had needed to lie, but couldn't come up with anything other than the truth.

Helen shrugged. "It was nothing," she said. "Sometimes we all need a way out when the gossip starts." She rolled her eyes. "I know from experience."

Cate raised her eyebrows. "Do you?"

A mischievous smile crossed Helen's face. "I do," she said. "But that's a tale for another time. Join me for lunch tomorrow, and perhaps we can share a few secrets."

When they said goodnight, Cate returned to her cabin. Another glance at her watch told her that she had thirty minutes to get to the promenade deck to meet James, which only served to send her pulse rocketing again. Esther was nowhere to be seen; perhaps she was still eating, or perhaps she was resting in her room. Cate had said not to expect her back to undress before nine, anyway, and for the moment she was rather glad of the privacy. She sat down at her writing desk and pulled out her diary from the Chinese sewing box once more, opening it to where she had left off with just that one word: _James. I think I have feelings for him_. Shivering slightly, Cate retrieved her pen and began to write.

 _Evening_

 _I am meeting James tonight on the promenade deck at eight. He asked me yesterday to meet him, and since then I have been trying to convince myself that it is just because he wants to make more jokes, and be silly, and have a break from the serious life of an officer. And I tell myself that I want to meet him because I enjoy his levity and the way he makes me laugh. And I do, truly, but I realize now that it's more than that. I really do believe I have feelings for him, if that is indeed what I'm feeling since I have never felt such things before, not even for Arthur Reyerson, who was so charming when he asked me to dance._

 _It is difficult for me to write this, and even more difficult to write that I am knowingly lying to my father by meeting James. I agreed to meet Da at eight, as well, and I wasn't thinking when I accepted. What excuse could I have come up with, anyway? I proved tonight that I am not good at lying spontaneously or indeed lying at all. Hopefully Da will not give Esther too much trouble when he realizes that I have purposefully avoided him. But I have years and years to argue with Da… as far as I know, I only have a few days with James._

Cate saw him before he saw her. He was standing by the railing, his back illuminated by a golden lamp mounted to the wall behind him. His gloveless hands rested upon the smooth wood of the deck wall, his eyes far out on the invisible horizon. She wondered what he was thinking of, naïvely hoping that it was of her. As she approached, her tall heels clacking on the wood beneath her feet, he turned to face her, his handsome face alighting with a beautiful smile that made her heart skip a beat. James seemed to lose the faraway look that had before captivated him, focusing now only on her. Though it was only eight, they seemed to be alone on the vast ship.

"You came," said James, reaching out to take her hand. He pressed his lips to her hand, causing goosebumps to erupt along her skin. She couldn't understand the effect he had on her; plenty of men had kissed her hand, and none of them had made her feel like fainting. She wished she could preserve the feeling of his lips on her hand forever.

"Of course, I came," Cate said, hoping he didn't see how he had affected her. "Did you doubt?"

James shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "Maybe a little," he said. "I saw your father approach earlier, and I thought… well… it doesn't matter now. You're here!"

Guilt crept into the crevices of Cate's heart at the thought of her promised meeting with Will. He would be furious when he realized that she would not be there, but she knew he would not have time to search the entire ship for her. No, she was sure he would return to the Bridge, far from where Cate currently was. She could handle his anger later. For right now, all she wanted was to focus on James, this balm over the rest of her life.

"How have you passed your first day aboard _Titanic_?" James asked, looking back out at the dark, vast ocean. "Have you enjoyed yourself?"

"More than I thought I would," Cate admitted. "I felt terribly lonely at first, I confess, but I've already met plenty of people, some of whom I know from Philadelphia. I met one man from Montréal, and he seemed delighted to have someone with whom to speak French."

James' eyes widened a bit and he cocked his head to the side. "You speak French?"

Cate giggled a bit at his surprise. "Yes," she said. "I didn't tell you? My maternal grandmother was born and raised in Montréal, and so she insisted that Lillian and I learn French—specifically _her_ dialect. It was very important to her. She hired a private tutor for us to travel from Québec all the way to Oxford just to teach us that dialect instead of that of France."

"It sounds as if you have a very… interesting… family," said James. "Did you enjoy living in Oxford? You sound as if you were born and raised there."

"Raised, but not born," Cate sighed. "It's a beautiful city, to be sure, but I never truly felt that I belonged there. My sister had no trouble making friends, but I did—perhaps because I was so shy and withdrawn. I mostly kept to my books and music."

James perked up, smiling. "You do have a beautiful voice," he said. "When is it I'll be able to hear you sing _Scarborough Fair_?"

"Likely never," said Cate. "I'm not a singer—Grand-mère saw no need for Lillian or I to study music, and so I am not trained. I only sing for myself."

James shrugged. "Maybe you've just never had the chance to sing for the right person."

"Perhaps not." Cate could feel her cheeks burning, and she avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the lamp behind his head. "That's quite enough about me, though. What about you? Do you like music?"

"I love music," said James, smiling. "I couldn't sing to save my life, though, and I can't play any instruments, so listening is really my only pleasure. I'm afraid I don't have much time for it, though."

"So what do you do on your time off?" Cate asked.

He smiled again. "Lately? I either sleep or think of you. Sometimes both."

Cate felt her heart flutter and her face grow even hotter. "You've dreamt of me?" she asked faintly. She could hardly believe they were having such a conversation.

"Once," said James. Cate noticed that his dimpled cheeks had started to color, too. "You were singing _Scarborough_ —"

"Is that the only song you know?" Cate teased.

"Please don't interrupt; it's very rude. As I was saying, you were singing _Scarborough Fair_ whilst walking along the main street of Scarborough."

"I've never even been to Scarborough," said Cate.

James shrugged. "I've never heard you sing that song, either, except one line. Funny how our minds make us see things we want to see, however unlikely."

Cate felt a smile sliding onto her face. "I don't know that it's unlikely I'll visit Scarborough."

James' smile widened once more. "Good!" he said. "I highly recommend it. I can show you all the best places, like the rocks where I once nearly broke my neck, and the beach with all of the little stones perfect for skipping."

"It sounds lovely."

"Just like you," said James. "The loveliest person in the whole ocean."

Cate laughed a bit. "I think you're exaggerating a bit."

"No, really," James insisted. "I don't know what I've done to deserve the attention of a lady such as yourself."

"I'm hardly a lady," said Cate. "Given my way, I'd be in a cottage in Scotland, not on my way to a veritable palace in America."

"I've made you angry." It was a statement, not a question.

Cate sighed. "I'm always angry," she said, not looking at him. "I don't want to be, but I am. And if I'm not angry, then someone accuses me of being melancholy."

James stepped up beside her and turned to face her, leaning on the half-wall that separated them from the ocean. "You're a mystery to me," he said. "You're beautiful and powerful, the granddaughter of a viscount, the heiress to a vast American dynasty, and yet you act as if you have no other path in life. And it angers you."

"I _don't_ have another path in life, and it _does_ anger me," Cate said rather sharply. "James, I cannot think of a single moment in which I made a decision—a true decision that affected anything other than my wardrobe for the day. I have been told what to do, where to go, whom to talk to, whom _not_ to talk to my entire life by my grandparents, and now my father has begun to do the same. It's maddening."

"Your father," James repeated quietly. "You mean, when he's told you not to speak to me."

"Yes," said Cate, looking at him once more. "He's forbidden it more than once."

James nodded. "And yet here you are. Why is that?"

He was looking directly into her eyes, something Cate had found that most men did not dare to do. It was bold, to be sure, but he was looking at her in such a way that did not seem forward or presumptuous. Part of Cate wanted to look away to avoid the intensity of his gaze, but she found herself meeting it, holding his blue eyes in her own.

"Because I made a choice," she said softly.

James smiled, and Cate found herself smiling with him. "So have I," he said.

For a moment, all either of them could hear was the lapping of the waves against the hull of the great ship and the call of seagull overhead. When James stepped forward and placed a hand on the side of her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone, she sighed at the warmth of his skin, wondering if he could perhaps hear the pounding of her heart. And as he ducked his head down towards hers and their lips met, Cate felt her eyes drift closed, marveling at the softness of his lips, at the blood pounding through her veins and the warmth spreading within her, from his kiss to the very tips of her fingers.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Hey, everyone! For my followers, just in case you didn't receive a second e-mail notification, I added a good chunk to the end of Chapter Eight that I had forgotten to upload, so make sure you double back and make sure you're all caught up if you weren't notified of the addition! As usual, thanks so much for all the continued reviews, favs, and follows! – PB**

 **Chapter Nine**

 _Thursday, April 11, 1912_

Sound returned to the world when James gently broke their kiss, his forehead against hers, his hand still on the side of her face. He didn't look disgusted, so Cate assumed she hadn't done a terrible job at her first time kissing someone. His left hand rested on her waist, though she could barely feel it through the layers of her dinner gown, corset, and underthings. If she could, she probably would have fainted.

"I've wanted to do that since the moment I laid eyes on you on the Bridge," he said softly. "I hope you don't mind. Though I suppose it's a bit late to be asking permission."

Cate giggled quietly. "You'll always have my permission," she said. And just when she was silently wishing he would kiss her again, he did.

When she and her cousin, Gwendolyn, had been about fifteen, Gwen had secretly courted Alan, a young farmer who lived further down the river. She had told Cate and Lillian that when she kissed him, she had been taken far, far away from Scotland, like she was soaring high in the sky. After that, Cate had always assumed that her first kiss would be the same: that she would suddenly feel like she was somewhere else with the man she was kissing. But she wasn't: she remained planted firmly upon the deck of the _Titanic_ , the waves lapping against the hull, the gentle rumble of the engines beneath their feet, the golden squares painted on the wooden deck from the lounge windows. And she knew she didn't want to be anywhere else but there.

"Someone may see us," Cate murmured reluctantly against his lips, pulling away ever so slightly. But he held her close, locking his arms around her waist.

"You're right," he said, looking around. There was no one in sight, but the promenade deck was a very public place, where any first-class passenger was free to stroll along and see Miss Catharine Alton kissing an officer. Or worse, where First Officer William Murdoch could find his colleague kissing his daughter. The thought caused Cate to take another step back.

"Follow me," said James, holding his ungloved hand out for her to take. Cate smiled and took it.

Glancing around, James led the way to the right, to the far wall of the lounge, walking as far away from the golden pools of light as possible, lest anyone should look out and see them. Directly beside the lounge was a nondescript, white door, which he opened for her. Inside, Cate could see nothing, though she could feel coats brushing up against her arm. It was so dark when James stepped in after her and closed the door that she gasped.

"Where are we?" she hissed, trying to feel a wall around her.

"The cloak room for the lounge," said James. He sounded mirthful. "The only people who come in here are stewards to take coats from the passengers while they sit around."

"And if a steward comes in?" Cate demanded, feeling panicked.

"Then we hand him a coat, don't we? It's only polite."

"James!"

"Relax, love," James said gently. She felt his hand find hers, their fingers lacing together.

She was so taken aback by him calling her "love" and the wonderful warmth of his hand that it took her a moment to reply. Cate shivered when she felt his other hand on the side of her neck, somehow able to find her though she knew he couldn't see any better than she could. Every part of her felt so alive, yearning for him as he kissed her again, closing her eyes though she couldn't see him anyway. The silence of the small room was closing in around them; all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing, their soft kisses, and the distant clink of a glass or a rumble of laughter from the lounge, seemingly miles away.

After an eternity and, at the same time, no time at all, they separated, their foreheads resting together once more, his arms around her waist and hers around his shoulders and neck.

"I wish I could see you," said Cate with a slight giggle. "How did you know there was a cloak room here?"

"I'm an officer," said James, "I know everything."

Immediately, Cate was reminded of what her father had said when he showed her around _Titanic_ before she set sail. "A fine thing it would be for the ship's First Officer to get lost on his vessel," he had said. She stepped out of James' arms.

"I shouldn't be here," she said, her heart suddenly filling with dread. "What if someone finds us? What if my father does?"

"Your father is likely asleep," said James, trying to reassure her. "He probably will be until he has to go on duty at ten."

"Well…" Cate said slowly, twisting her hands together. "I don't think so. Not tonight."

There was a pause. Someone laughed loudly in the lounge.

"Why not?" James asked at last.

"I… may have promised to meet him in my stateroom… at eight."

Another silence.

"Was this before or after you agreed to meet me?" said James.

"After," Cate replied. "It was this morning. When he told me to meet him, I had forgotten, truly, but… when I remembered… I decided to meet you instead."

Cate knew better than to expect James to be flattered that she had chosen him. Indeed, he sighed, and she felt him turn away from her.

"So you're father is somewhere in the first-class area of the ship, perhaps looking for you," he said, "while you're in a dark closet with me in said first-class area, after you lied to him about meeting him? Oh, this is marvelous, Cate."

The sarcasm in his voice was too much to bear. "I didn't mean to lie to him," she insisted. "What was I supposed to do? He wanted to meet me so we could continue arguing, and I'm _tired_ of fighting him. I have years to fight with my father, but I only have days to be with you. The ship docks in less than a week, and then what?"

James sighed. "I don't know."

"So can you blame me?" Cate continued. "I wanted to be with you—I _do_ want to be with you. But I don't know what the likelihood of my father checking every crevice aboard the ship is. He may just return to the Bridge."

"And he may not."

"No," Cate conceded.

James sighed again. "Cate… it's not just the possibility of us being found out… I want to be with you more than anything. But I don't want to deliberately create a divide between you and your father. I won't have you choosing between us. It's not right."

"What did you think kissing me would do?" Cate demanded, growing angry. "Even if I hadn't lied to my father, do you think he'd be leaping for joy at the idea of us together in a cloak room?"

"It's fairly doubtful," said James. "But we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, however, I refuse to keep you away when you should be with him."

Cate heard him move toward the door. "You're leaving?" she said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.

"I don't want to," said James, "but I must. There's too much risk while your father may be looking for you, and I won't keep you from him. You should go find him."

"No," Cate said shortly. "He can yell at me tomorrow. I'm not letting him ruin this evening for me."

James stepped forward and seemed to magically find her in the darkness. He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I'll see you soon," he whispered before stepping away. He opened the door and light from the windows and lamps flooded in. James glanced around and, once he was sure no one was coming, stole back out onto the promenade deck.

* * *

 _Friday, April 12, 1912_

Sunrise had always been Will's favorite time of day. He had always preferred to have duty shifts that took place in the early hours of the morning when the earth began to awake from her long sleep. But on _Titanic_ , he was bound to work from 10 to 2, both in the morning and the evening, thus being blessed with no dazzling sight of either sunrise or sunset. It was Chief Officer Henry Wilde, who worked from 2 to 6, who was able to see both. (This was yet another reason for which Will was bitter that Wilde had taken his spot as Chief Officer.)

On Friday, Will woke much earlier than he needed to, after getting only about three hours of sleep. At about five, he wandered to the stern of the ship, his eyes bleary, to watch the sun peering over the horizon. He had gone to Catey's cabin at eight the previous evening, wanting to continue their conversation out from the watchful eyes of the other passengers, but she hadn't been there. Esther, her maid, had suggest that dinner had run long, but the longer Will waited, the more he was sure that Catharine had purposefully avoided him. He had tried to hold his temper, and certainly not take it out on Esther, but he had always found it difficult to contain his anger. As calmly as possible, he had asked Esther to tell Catharine to meet him at the Bridge the very moment she returned. Esther had agreed, but the young lady had not appeared on the Bridge at all that evening. Neither had Sixth Officer James Moody, until midnight when it was time for him to begin his shift.

Moody had appeared more bleary-eyed that normal, though the junior officers often showed their fatigue, having to work four hours on and four hours off for the majority of the day, while the senior officers had four hours on and eight hours off. But his fatigue was even noticed by his companion, Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall, who chuckled and joked that poor Moody, younger than all of the other officers, needed an extra nap.

"Sod off, Joe," Moody had grumbled before yawning as he took his place beside the wheel.

"Did you get no sleep at all?" Will asked, trying his best not to sound suspicious.

"No, sir, I got some," Moody replied vaguely. "But I didn't go straight to bed when my shift ended."

 _Were you with my daughter_? The question was on the tip of Will's tongue, but he held it in. Truthfully, he didn't have much of a reason to be suspicious; Moody, at least, had given no indication that he was dreaming of Will's daughter every time his mind wandered, whereas Cate could be read like an open book. That, and James Moody was an exceptionally good worker; Will could see him rising to the top of his career very quickly, and Will didn't want to jeopardize anything for him with needless accusations. He had no proof that Moody was breaking the rules by fraternizing with a passenger, and even if that passenger was Will's own daughter, he didn't want Moody to get into any trouble. No, if anything was happening, Will wanted to deal with it on his own. (However, Will wasn't entirely sure he would feel the same way if he did learn that Moody had been courting Catharine.)

But Will had thought about Catey and where she had been all throughout his four-hour shift, finally falling into an uneasy sleep at two and waking a mere three hours later, in time to see the sunrise. Of his two daughters, only Lillian had inherited his love of the mornings, while Cate abhorred them. Will knew she would not be pleased by being woken so early, but he knew he need to speak with her before the other first-class passengers were up and about. And because he could not rely on her to meet him at the Bridge, Will watched the sun drift into the sky and then headed to the aft grand staircase, walking down to B-Deck where he knew Cate slept soundly.

The long, white corridor seemed endless, his heels clicking on the tiled floor. A stewardess, whom he knew as Lucy, bobbed a short curtsey at him as he passed, but otherwise the place was deserted. Will felt tired, his eyes heavy, his body sluggish from so little sleep, but he knew this needed to be done. When he reached the cabin B-76, set in a small recess from the hallway, he knocked sharply upon the door. There was a long moment of silence before he knocked again, more loudly. Finally, he heard her stirring, heard her footsteps before the door was thrown open. Cate stood before him, her eyes groggy, her golden hair hanging disheveled about her shoulders and down her back, clutching a dressing gown tightly around her.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice full of sleep and irritation.

"Early enough for both of us," Will said shortly. When she stood aside, he marched into the cabin and into the center of the room as she closed the door behind him. "Where were you list night?" he demanded.

Cate yawned, delicately covering her hand with her mouth. "Da…"

"Answer me," Will snapped, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "I told you I would call on you at eight, and you weren't here. I waited for nearly _two hours_ , Catharine."

Cate ran a hand through her bedraggled hair. "Why is your use of my full name always a sign of disapproval?" she asked. "I'm only 'Cate' or 'Catey' when you're not furious with me."

Will sighed. "You're always my Catey, lass," he said, his voice going more quiet. "Always. You'll always be my little dreamer. But that doesn't stop me from being able to be angry with you, which, admittedly, has been happening more and more often as of late. But stop skirting the question and answer me. _Where were you?_ "

"Dinner ran long," Cate said at last.

"You're lying," Will said shortly a moment later. "Esther said you told her not to expect you until after nine."

Cate had never been adept at lying, not that she had tried very often. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, and as she had tried to lie to him, she had looked sharply to the wall on the left, rather than into his eyes like she usually did. Indeed, when Will called her out on her lie, Cate's cheeks flushed red, and she pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her.

"Can you blame me for not wanting to fight with you?" she asked, challenging his question with one of her own. "That seems to be all we've done since I arrived in Southampton, and I'm tired of it."

"So am I," said Will. "Do you think I enjoy fighting with you, Catey? I hate it. But that doesn't give you the right to avoid me… I'm still your father, even if you'd like to hide it from your fellow passengers."

Cate's face became cold as stone, and immediately Will regretted his words. He knew she didn't _want_ to hide him, that she wasn't ashamed of him, but sometimes he worried… sometimes he felt that, now that Lillian clearly _did_ feel that way, that Catey was all he had left. But before he could take back his words, she spoke.

"Are you sure you _are_?" she asked acidly, her voice hard. "I mean, you were only with Sophie for one night, weren't you? Where's the proof that you _are_ our father?"

Her words were like a knife. Will wanted to yell, wanted to shout and assert his authority, but he could only look at her, feeling like she had slapped him. It was ridiculous, of course, to suggest that anyone other than Will had fathered Lillian and Catharine; they looked so much like him and so very little like Sophie, save, perhaps, for her porcelain skin and her small stature. That, and the only other man that Sophie had been with (as far as Will knew) had been her late husband, John Widdick, and he had had dark hair and eyes, and had not been intimate with Sophie for some months before he died—that was why Sophie had been so certain that her babies were Will's. Adam and Beth Alton skirted around the issue of the ladies looking nothing like neither John nor Sophie by saying that they had inherited the fair looks of Beth's mother, laughing as if they found it terribly funny. In reality, Beth had been furious when their golden hair had not darkened like had been expected as they grew older.

When Will finally was able to speak, his voice was level. "I am your father," he said, "and I know you know it, Catey. I love you more than I can say. I can't scold you, or punish you, or confine you to your cabin for the rest of the day, and I don't fight with you because I want to assert authority as your father. Were you with James Moody last night? Is that why you didn't meet me?"

There was another silence, and Will studied his daughter. Her eyes never left his, but he could see her thinking, and the dread in his heart grew and grew with each passing second. She didn't even need to respond for him to know the truth.

"I was with Helen Newsom," she said at last, shaking her long, blond hair from her face. "She's traveling back to Ohio with her parents. You could even go ask her if you like. I didn't want to return here to fight with you, so I stayed in the saloon with her and the other ladies after the men retired to the smoking room."

Will nodded slowly, but inside he felt sickened with more anger. She was lying—of course, she was! Cate had taken far too long to respond to him, had calculated her reply before actually giving it. She knew perfectly well that he couldn't go find this person, this Helen Newsom, just to ask if Cate was telling the truth. He almost expected her to smirk at him, as if she felt so terribly clever in tricking him. Even though she hadn't. But he knew how to get the real truth.

"Alright," Will said at last. "I believe you."

A small smile appeared on Cate's face, but it faltered after a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't meet you," she said. "Truly. I'm just so tired of fighting, Da. It's all we've done since I arrived in Southampton."

"I'm tired of it, too," said Will. "But I care about you. I care about your reputation and your life in Philadelphia—I don't want you to ruin things because you fancy a member of the crew."

Immediately, Cate's cheeks became bright red. She tucked a clump of hair behind her ear and turned, sputtering something about certainly _not_ fancying _anyone_ , and what a _ridiculous_ claim that was. Will smiled sadly and stepped forward to press his lips to her forehead.

"I love you, Catey. Just mind me. Please."

"I will, Da," said Cate, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "I love you, too."

When Will left her, he felt worse than he had before. Lack of sleep was weighing even more heavily upon him, and he felt ready to drop at any moment. (He had thought his life as a sailor was difficult, but that had not nearly prepared him for the fatigue of raising two daughters.) When he returned to his own cabin on the boat deck, he lay on the stiff bed and stared up at the ceiling, willing himself to fall asleep, if only for a few hours.

James Moody was on duty when Will arrived in the wheelhouse at ten that morning. For nearly an hour, the officers went about their business. James took orders calmly from his superior, nodding with a "Yes, sir," before doing as he had been told, looking smart and official in his uniform. Finally, Will could contain himself no longer.

"Mr. Moody, could I speak to you, please?" Will asked as Moody returned from his rounds across the ship.

For a split second, James looked surprised, but he nodded shortly, saying, "Of course, sir," before following Will from the navigating bridge and onto the officers' promenade. Will nodded at Quartermaster Hichens, who was passing, and when the two men were alone, save for first-class passengers meandering further aft, he turned to Moody.

"Were you with my daughter last night?" His question was blunt; indeed, Mr. Moody looked taken aback, his eyes widening.

"Sir?" he stammered after a moment, glancing around a bit.

"My daughter," Will repeated. "Catharine." _Catey, my little dreamer_. "I want the truth, Mr. Moody. I know you've associated with her after I warned her to keep her distance from you, and she was not there last night when she promised to meet me. So tell me, was she with you?"

"No, sir." Mr. Moody's gaze did not falter; he looked Will in the eye, his hands clasped behind his back, and while Will had not believed Cate, who had looked nearly everywhere but at her father, he found himself believing the young man who stood before him. Will wanted to press him, ask if he was absolutely sure, but he knew he would get no better answer than the one James had given him. So, at last, Will nodded at him and turned away, walking back toward the bridge, yet still not feeling altogether reassured.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 _Friday, April 12, 1912_

After her father left, Cate sat down on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the floor. Waves of nausea rolled through her, and for a moment, she thought she was going to be sick. She had blatantly lied to her father, to his face, about where she had been. She had never lied to him before, and now she couldn't stop lying to him, just so she could be with James. But… it was James, she reasoned with herself; the only way she could be with him was if she continued to lie to Will, because he would surely tear them apart if he found out the truth. And though the image of James' face in her mind's eye and the memory of his lips on hers caused her heart to flutter and feel lighter, the guilt continued to surge through her. While she was with him, her life felt blissfully beautiful and uncomplicated, but the moment he left, reality came crashing down upon her: that she was lying to her father and that she was to arrive in America in just a few short days, probably never to see James again.

Cate lay down, closing her eyes and trying to sleep, doing her best to ignore the churning of her stomach and how hot her skin felt, all symptoms of when she felt terribly guilty about something. And though she tossed and turned, pulling the covers up to her chest one moment and kicking them off the next, sleep would not come. By the time Esther's soft knock sounded on the door, Cate felt quite haggard and ready to throw something. Nevertheless, she bade the maid enter and stood dutifully, ready for her bath to be drawn and to be made up like a doll.

"Are you quite alright, miss?" Esther asked later as she artfully pinned up Cate's hair. "You don't seem yourself today."

Their eyes met in the mirror's reflection. Cate trusted Esther, far more than she had ever trusted Lillian, but still she felt nervous about confessing her secrets. Beth had always cattily said that one should never confide in servants, as they would run to confide said secrets in someone else the moment one turned one's back. Then again, Beth had never really seen her servants as actual people, whereas Cate genuinely liked Esther and appreciated her help and company. There seemed to be a quiet wisdom to her that Cate admired, and she seemed to be much more level-headed than she, though they were around the same age.

"I've got a lot on my mind," Cate admitted, continuing to look at her through the mirror. "I feel like my life is splitting into two directions, and though I _want_ to go one way, I simply… can't. It's maddening."

Esther shrugged as she slid a beautiful, art nouveau comb that resembled a peacock into Cate's hair. "Why can't you?" she said. "It's _your_ life, isn't it? Even if it may be difficult, surely you can decide for yourself what you want your life to be."

"Can I?" Cate said wearily. "You and James both seem to think so, but I'm afraid it's not that simple."

A hint of surprise flashed across Esther's face. "James, Miss?"

Immediately, felt herself grow hot, and she avoided Esther's gaze in the mirror.

"He…" Cate swallowed. "He's… a young man I met whilst in Southampton. He's… an officer aboard _Titanic_ , as a matter of fact."

"I see," said Esther, delicately shaping Cate's hair with the palms of her hands. "And you're friends with Mr. James?"

Cate smiled, both at her calling him "Mr. James" and the image of his face that had appeared in her mind's eye. But she still felt her cheeks burning.

"Yes," she said at least, toying with a brush on the vanity. "We're friends. And because he's an officer, my father does not want us to associate with one another. But… I can't seem to obey him."

Esther nodded knowingly. "And is he one of the directions your life is splitting into, Miss?"

Cate sighed slightly and set the hairbrush down. "Yes," she said. "I believe so."

"Well, Miss," said Esther, "I believe you should do what your heart tells you to, not what other people think you should do. If you truly believe that the best thing is to go one way, then you should."

But it wasn't that simple. Cate smiled and thanked Esther for her advice, but she still felt lost. Everyone expected her to live the life of a Pennsylvanian princess, to marry rich, and to be a pretty doll for the rest of her life. But a life with James, if that was even something that he would want with her, would change everything. Cate had never before truly believed in love, but when she was with James, the possibility became more and more believable.

* * *

Cate was joined for breakfast in the dining saloon by Monsieur Quigg Baxter, his mother, Hélène, his sister, Mary, and Madame Berthe de Villiers. Quigg smiled when he saw her descending the grand staircase and held his arm out for her to take.

"Mademoiselle Alton," he said, kissing her hand. " _Venez_ _prendre le déjeuner et parler français avec nous!_ "

Cate smiled and nervously accepted his invitation to have breakfast and speak French with them, allowing herself to be led into the saloon while Quigg talked happily to her and Berthe, who was on his other arm, about the voyage and how excited he was to show Berthe the beauty of Montréal.

" _Et mademoiselle, vous connaissez Montréal, donc vous pouvez lui raconter sa beauté_!" Quigg said to Cate, gesturing grandly as they arrived at their table, off toward the left of the room, near the large windows.

Cate wasn't sure how she could explain to Berthe the beauty of Montréal, and in French no less, when she had only visited a handful of times and had never done much sight-seeing. However, she grew more confident in her French-speaking abilities as the morning wore on. If she made a mistake and realized it, Quigg would smile and assure her that it was quite alright, that her French was " _presque parfait_ ," and that she spoke better than half the lads he went to school with. She learned that he had attended Loyola College in Montréal and that he had been an accomplished football and hockey player until an injury had caused him to lose sight in one eye. After that, he had decided to coach hockey instead, and had organized a tournament in Paris. Most recently, he had dropped out of McGill University to travel through Europe with his mother and sister. Where Berthe fit in, Cate wasn't certain. She was very quiet and rather mysterious, smiling slightly whenever Quigg spoke, but rarely speaking herself.

When they had finished eating and parted ways in the reception room, Cate wandered back up the stairs to the boat deck. She had never really cared for breakfast, but had found herself quite unable to decline Quigg's offer for her to join them when he looked so eager and jovial. Eating early in the morning had never sat well with Cate, and that combined with her guilt over lying to Will made Cate feel positively sick. She walked slowly along the boat deck, hoping the cool air would calm her nerves and her twisting stomach. As she walked, she found herself heading toward Cal, Rose, and Ruth, were strolling together, Cal with a cane and Ruth with a parasol.

"Hello, Mrs. Dewitt Bukater," Cate said politely as they stopped before one another. "Cal… Rose. How are you this morning?"

"Absolutely splendid," said Cal, reaching forward to kiss Cate's hand. "We'll be having luncheon with Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Ismay—he's the owner of White Star Line—in the Palm Court. Would you care to join us?"

But the thought of eating anything more, even in several hours, made Cate want to run and hide. Not only that, as much as she liked Mr. Andrews and what she had seen of Mrs. Margaret Brown, she didn't think she could handle another lengthy meal of talking about the voyage, gossip, and Philadelphia, not when she would be obligated to do so that night at dinner—that she definitely couldn't avoid. So she smiled and politely declined, saying she had plans to join Helen Newsom and her parents at the à la carte restaurant. Why it was so much easier to lie to Cal than it was anyone else, she wasn't sure. But Cal seemed to believe her, nodding.

"Well, how about dinner tonight?" he suggested. "Unless you have plans already?"

"No, that would be lovely," said Cate. "Thank you."

Suddenly, Rose spoke up, her blue eyes suddenly alighting. "Cate, would you like to join me for some tea in the lounge? We've not yet had a chance to catch up, just the two of us."

Cate's eyes widened for a moment. Indeed, both Cal and Ruth looked fairly surprised by Rose's sudden desire for tea, but when Cate accepted, Cal smiled and slid his arm from his fiancée's.

"You ladies enjoy yourselves," he said. "Ruth, shall we?"

He held out his arm to Rose's mother, and Ruth took it. As they strolled further forward on the boat deck, Rose sighed, as if she had been holding her breath the entire time. When their eyes met, Rose gave Cate a small smile before walking in the direction of the aft grand staircase. Cate hated tea, and she never had much to say to young ladies her own age, but she was curious as to Rose's sudden desire for the two of them to "catch up," though Cate was certain they had nothing to catch up on.

The lounge was a large room with green carpet and dark, oak paneling along the walls. There were countless small, round tables surrounded by comfortable, padded chairs, and off to the side were sofas and loveseats grouped around rectangular tables. Cate and Rose sat down near the starboard windows, looking out at the promenade on A-Deck. As they sat in silence for a bit, waiting for their drinks to arrive after they had ordered, Cate looked out, just barely able to see the spot where James had kissed her the night before. Where was he at that moment, she wondered? Was he thinking of her? Or was he too busy for such things?

"I'm sorry to bother you," Rose said after a while, placing the teacup that had been given to her on the table. "But I had to get away from Mother and Cal."

Cate was a bit surprised, but she tried not to show it; the image that Rose and Cal had presented to society was that they were madly in love with one another. At least, that was the impression everyone had gotten.

"Quite alright," said Cate, taking a sip of her coffee. "Parents can be a bit overbearing, can't they?"

Rose raised her eyebrows a bit. "I thought you were an orphan?" she said quizzically.

Cate cursed silently. "I am," she said quickly. "But I meant my grandparents, really, since they raised us. And I think my grandmother is very similar to your mother."

"How unfortunate for you," said Rose, her voice a bit hollow. But then she plastered a smile on her face, clearly false. "I'm sorry," she said, smoothing out her dress. "I shouldn't talk like that. It's just… my relationship with a mother is a bit… strained."

That was not a secret. From the gossip Cate had overheard from her grandmother, Ruth and Rose were constantly bickering and getting into spats. Beth had suggested that it was because Ruth was forcing her into a marriage with Cal, but Cate couldn't see how that could be true; Rose had always struck her as the type to do what she wanted, not what others told her to.

"I understand," Cate assured her. And though she knew Rose would think she was talking about her intensely strained relationship with her grandparents, Cate was actually thinking of how strained her relationship had been with her father lately—and the guilt returned.

Cate waited for Rose to say one of the typical things—to ask about Lillian's wedding in June, to talk about the voyage thus far, the weather, the immaculate luxury of first class—but she didn't. For a while, the two young ladies sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts and their own worlds.

"Are you alright?" Cate asked after a good amount of time, almost mirroring the question Esther had asked her that very morning.

Rose started a bit, as if surprised that Cate was still there. "I'm sorry," she said. "Sometimes I get lost in my own thoughts if given the chance. I hope you don't think I've used you as a ploy to get away from Cal and my mother; I just know that we're similar in that regard. You've never struck me as the type to talk needlessly like most of our people."

 _Our people_. Cate realized then that, as far as Rose knew, they were both planted firmly in the same world. Rose had been born and raised in the world of luxury and money, whereas Cate had escaped it after her birth and had then been thrust back into it at the tender age of five. She had flitted in and out between the summers and holidays she had spent in Dalbeattie, longing for a simpler life, while this was all Rose knew. Everyone Cate knew acted as if money was the one thing that could guarantee happiness, but Cate didn't think she had ever seen someone look so sad as Rose did then.

"I don't see the point," said Cate. "The conversations bore me; I would much rather be on my own, reading a book or something. Honestly, if I hear someone say 'What a fantastic ship this is,' one more time, I may scream."

Rose smiled and, for the first time, it looked genuine. "I know," she said. "Cal and Mother are lapping it up, but I feel so confined here, especially with them both breathing down my neck. You don't know how lucky you are to be traveling alone."

Cate almost laughed. It was amazing how well Will managed to breathe down her neck while being busy most of the day. She was surprised that he hadn't walked in on her and James the night before when, nearly every other time she had seen him, he had caught them. And now the one time they had finally done more than talking, and he had no idea.

"Yes, I find it more enjoyable to travel on my own," said Cate. "If ever you need an excuse to be alone and sit in silence, feel free to use me."

Another smile. "Thank you," said Rose, "truly."

The two young women sat together for a couple of hours, sipping coffee and tea, and, once they had grown more comfortable and truly realized that the other would not mind, they read. At least, they started to; they had both decided to return to their cabins momentarily to retrieve books and, when Cate returned to the corridor where Rose waited, Rose's eyes had widened at the sight of the yellow cover of _Dracula_. They returned to the lounge and, instead of reading their respective novels, had launched into a discussion about Stoker's book. It occurred to Cate that they both could have easily returned to their own cabins if they wanted to be alone, but sitting with Rose and discussing literature wasn't tiring like conversing with some millionaire and his wife about how fast _Titanic_ could travel.

Cal and Ruth arrived at noon to collect Rose for lunch, and both women were rather reluctant to cease their discussion and return to the real world void of vampires and ghouls. And because Cate had lied about her plans for lunch, she had no choice but to depart the lounge, acting as if she was going to the restaurant to join Helen and her parents. However, when the Hockley party was out of sight, instead of going to the restaurant, Cate climbed the stairs to A-Deck and wandered toward the reading and writing room. Just as she had hoped, it was empty, as most, if not all, of the first class passengers headed for lunch in the saloon, café, or restaurant. Cate made her way to an upright piano that seemed to be carved out of the wall, so perfectly did it fit into its little cabinet on the far side. She wasn't quite sure if passengers were allowed to play the pianos, but as no one was around to stop her, she didn't quite care at the moment.

At school, both Cate and Lillian had required to take music classes despite Beth's wishes as part of the academy's desire for its students to be very well-rounded. Lillian had attempted the violin and hated it while Cate had excelled in piano, singing in her spare time. At the academy, one needed only to look in either the library or the music room to find her. There was a piano at her grandparents' mansion in Philadelphia that she played as often as possible, which usually was only while Beth was out and could not hear. Adam, her grandfather, didn't particularly care either way.

As she sat down at the beautiful instrument, Cate ran her fingers over the ivory keys. Before she let herself stop to think, she began playing the first song that came to her, one she had learned years ago. The words sprang to herself and, because she knew she was alone, she allowed herself to sing.

" _Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

 _Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._

 _Remember me to the one who lives there,_

 _He once was a true love of mine._ "

Cate surprised herself by changing the last line, singing "he" instead of "she." Immediately, James' face appeared in her mind, and though she felt terribly embarrassed, she forced herself to continue. She sang and, though the ballad did not truly fit how she felt about James, its lyrics talking of a person giving their lover a series of impossible tasks to prove their love, his face danced in her head, wishing she was brave enough to sing it for him, wishing she could tell him that, every time she sang about her "true love," his face became clearer and clearer.

She sang the last line, " _He once was a true love of mine_ ," her voice trailing into silence. Cate sat there for a moment, suddenly feeling like she shouldn't be there. What if someone heard her and asked her why she was singing that particular ballad? Perhaps she was overthinking things, but it felt strange to be thinking about James so strongly in a public place, as if the other passengers could read her thoughts and judge her silence. As she turned on the bench, she nearly screamed. Leaning on the back of an armchair, his arms folded over his chest, his hat resting on the side, a smile on his handsome face, was none other than James himself.

"Don't stop," he said eagerly, standing up straight taking several steps toward her. "That was beautiful. I've never heard such a lovely voice, truly."

"How—" Cate sputtered, feeling utterly mortified, "How did you—"

"How did I know you were in here?" James suggested, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. "I didn't! I just so happened to be strolling along the promenade deck, as one does, and I just so happened to see you walking to the piano through the window. I was going to announce my presence when you began playing, so of _course_ , I couldn't interrupt. That would just be rude."

But despite James' smile and his compliments, Cate could only stammer at him, so embarrassed did she feel that he had caught her, as if he could have read the thoughts floating through her mind as she sang, as if he could read just what lay written on her heart. When he saw how flustered she became, James' grin faltered and he hurried forward to sit beside her on the piano bench, taking her hands in his.

"I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you," he said, bringing her fingers up to his lips and kissing them. "That was not my intention. You truly do have a beautiful voice, though. And you play magnificently."

Cate nervously returned his smile. "You fluster me so," she admitted. "It's my job to be very poised and composed, but you render me incapable of all that. How do you do it?"

James smiled again and, without bothering to glance around and see that no one had walked in one them, leaned forward to kiss her gently on the lips.

"It's part of my charm," he said, placing a hand on the side of her neck before kissing her again, this time lingering longer and scooting closer so that no space existed between them. "That, and my innate ability to find you whenever I look for you."

"Really?" Cate said in between kisses. "Do you ever sleep?"

"Occasionally," said James, kissing the corner of her mouth and then the side of her chin, her jaw, her cheek… His lips were as gentle as butterflies on her closed eyelids, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "Recently, not as often." A kiss on her forehead and then their eyes met. "You're more fun than sleep."

Cate, her heart racing a bit, took a moment to reply as her eyes fluttered open once more. Indeed, she fancied she could see circles underneath his blue eyes. "You should get some rest," she said disapprovingly.

"I can to that later," James said dismissively, sitting back and glancing at a beautiful clock that was perched on a mantle nearby. "I'm free until four, and then I only have to work two hours. Then I can get some sleep while you're at dinner."

Cate sighed, but she felt touched that he wanted to spend so much time with her. And truthfully, she wanted to spend just as much time with him, if only it were possible.

"I wish there was somewhere we could go," said Cate as she looked around the empty writing room once more, "where we could be sure no one would find us."

There was a pause and, in that moment, both Cate and James realized they each had a place in which they could be alone. Cate immediately regretted her words, not having recognized how forward they had been. But James didn't seem particularly fazed, though he fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve for a moment before looking back at her.

"Well," James said after a moment, "any first class areas are obviously out, because you're a gossipy lot, and we can't go into any of the officers' areas…."

"Gossipy first class passengers likely won't stray out of our area," said Cate, "unless they're 'slumming.' I heard someone talking about it at dinner the other night. But the crew can go anywhere. Even if we hid among third class, we couldn't guarantee that my father or, I don't know, Mr. Lowe wouldn't come upon us."

"It's not likely," said James. "They're both on duty right now, and so it's unlikely either of them will leave the bridge unless there's some sort of emergency. The senior officers do rounds, but…"

"But what?"

But James' thoughtful, almost discouraged demeanor was gone in an instant, and he smiled again.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Even if Harold were to come upon us, I don't think he would turn us in to your father or the skipper. He's not like that."

"The skipper?" Cate repeated.

"Captain Smith."

"No, I know what the skipper is," said Cate, a bit irritably. "I mean… what would happen if someone told the captain about… about us?"

James sighed. He turned a bit away from her and looked out at the beautiful, lavish room.

"At first," he said slowly, "perhaps nothing… perhaps I would have received a warning for continuing to speak to you more than I should have. But now… now that we've…" He sighed again and paused before looking back at her. "I'm sure I'd be dismissed."

"Dismissed," said Cate. "From _Titanic_?"

"From White Star Line," James corrected her. "I don't think I'd ever work on another White Star Line ship, nor any Cunard or any other company's ship." He gave a humorless laugh. "Not to mention the fact that your father would murder me."

Cate stood quickly from the piano bench and took several steps away, wringing her hands together. She suddenly felt terribly nervous, as if Will or the captain was going to walk in at any moment.

"I can't let you throw away your career for me," she said, finally turning back to him. "I'm not worth the risk, James, and you know it."

"No, I don't know it," James said gently, standing up, as well. "Do you think I take this lightly, Cate? Do you think I _want_ to lose everything I've worked toward? You're not just a pretty girl who caught my eye that day on the bridge… I thought you'd realized that by now."

"Realized what?" Cate whispered, willing herself not to start crying due to the panic and emotion rising within her.

"That you're worth everything," James said softly, stepping toward her and taking her face in his warm hands. "I would risk everything for you."

"You shouldn't," said Cate. Much to her dismay, she felt her eyes welling with tears. "You're risking so much more than I am. Gossip, an angry father… I can live with all that. But I can't let you throw away your career for me, for a few days aboard a ship with… with the pretty girl on the bridge."

James chuckled slightly, wiping away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Your listening skills are terrible," he teased quietly. "I said you _weren't_ just some pretty girl on the bridge, remember? You're beautiful and you _were_ on the bridge, yes, but you're so much more than that to me. I feel like I've found a single diamond in all the ocean, one I was searching for without even knowing it, and I can't believe how lucky I am to have found it. How can I turn away from something so wonderful?"

"Maybe we have to be strong." Her words were a quiet susurration, barely intelligible of the soft, distant rumbling of the engines and boilers, their only reminder that they were sailing along the sea. She looked past his shoulder at the room behind him.

James took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back so that she looked up at him, and kissed her, moving his other hand to rest on her waist. Cate was sure he could feel her heart pounding against his chest, that he could feel her trembling.

"Yes, we do," James said at last when he pulled back from their kiss, resting his forehead on hers and looking down at her. "We'll have to be strong together, Cate, because the only way you're throwing me over is literally tossing me overboard into the ocean. Unless you honestly tell me that we… that what we have… is not worth the risk to you."

Cate lowered her eyes for a moment. When she spoke, she looked back up at him. "And what do we have, James?" she whispered. "Is it sporadic encounters over the course of a week-and-a-half before we go our separate ways?"

James smiled slightly. "Would _you_ turn away from a diamond you'd found after only two weeks? I don't know if I'm strong enough for that. We have about four more days together on board _Titanic_."

"And then what?" Cate asked.

James kissed her forehead softly. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we'll figure it out together."

* * *

No one walked in on them in the reading and writing room. As it grew closer to one o'clock, though, Cate grew more anxious as she knew first class passengers would be finishing their lunch and ladies would, perhaps, want to retire to that room to write letters or to read. And though Cate tried to convince James to return to his cabin to sleep before his next ship, he refused, insisting that he could sleep later. And so, wanting to stay together but unable to remain in that place, they left together. They had decided that the best course of action would be to attempt to blend in with the third class passengers, who, even if they gossiped, wouldn't able to spread said gossip to any first class passengers or crew. And there were so many of them that, despite James' uniform and Cate's beautiful ensemble, clear symbols of their respective statuses, they still might blend in enough to be ignored.

However, because they would be required to walk through the majority of the first class spaces, they decided to separate and meet at the stern, a poop deck that was out in the open and yet reserved for third class passengers. And however unjust it was, while third class passengers could not venture out of their designated areas, Cate, in first class, had the ability to go anywhere on the ship, regardless of the class for which it was reserved. She had overheard a number of passengers she didn't know laughing over dinner about how they had 'slummed' in the third class main hall to see what they were like, as if they were completely different beings because they had less money. It disgusted her, and yet Cate couldn't stop herself from taking advantage of the unfair rules so she could be with James.

After following James' instructions, they met once more at the stern of _Titanic_. He smiled when he caught sight of her and together they walked over to the port side, nestled in a corner where they were almost hidden by a gargantuan, electric crane and rope crank. There were several third class passengers milling about, talking and laughing, smoking, and seemingly have a grand old time. It reminded Cate of the evenings she had spent with her family in Dalbeattie after one of the uncles had started a large bonfire, and she and her cousins had danced gaily around it before collapsing on the grass, breathless with laughter, to eat supper and listen to stories and tales in the warm, summer evenings. She knew that, if she had grown up the way she was meant to and had booked a passage on board _Titanic_ , it would be in the third class. Not that she ever wouldhave left Scotland willingly.

"I'm sorry I left so suddenly last night," said James, leaning up against the ship's white railing. "Did you speak with your father?"

Cate smiled grimly, though she immediately felt set upon by sickening waves of guilt once more. "Yes," she said. "He came to see me quite early this morning in my cabin."

"This morning?" said James. "You didn't go meet him?"

Cate sighed and turned to face the southern horizon. When she and Lillian had sailed the Atlantic the first several times when they were quite young, she had tried to convince her sister that she could see all the way down to Africa or even Antarctica, depending on where they were during the voyage. Cate had insisted that the fairies that had visited them when they were babies, the ones who had blessed them and given them straw-and-sunshine-colored hair, had given her special powers to see far into the distance. Lillian, who was quite adept at geography, had never believed her, but it had been fun for Cate to pretend that she could see much farther past the horizon.

"No, I didn't," Cate said at last. "I returned to my stateroom only after I was certain that he had returned to work. Did he seem very angry?"

James shrugged and moved beside her so that he, too, looked out at the ocean. "No," he said. "Not angry at all, really. At least he didn't seem so, not even when he asked me about you."

Cate whirled around to face him, her eyes wide. "He approached you about me?" she said. "What did he say? When?"

She expected him to tell her to relax, that everything was fine, but he didn't. James seemed stiff as he stood there before her, still gazing out at the southern horizon.

"Around eleven," he said, "about an hour after he came on duty. He seemed perfectly… I don't know, he seemed like his normal self. He asked to speak with me, and with no preamble, he asked if I was with you last night."

Cate felt her heart drop like a stone. James was a very honorable person, she knew, as honorable as one could be whilst kissing his superior's daughter. But would he lie about it to that very superior? He had said that they were risking everything, but surely if James had admitted that he had been with her the night before, Wil's wrath would have already come down on both their heads.

"What did you reply?" she asked weakly, willing him to tear his eyes from the sea and look at her.

Finally, he did, his eyes meeting hers. "I lied," he said. "And I feel sick about it, truly, because I don't lie. Ever. Not even when I stole a biscuit that Mum made before supper. But I lied to the First Officer about being with his daughter. I lied when I knew perfectly well that, not only was it wrong for me to be with you, but for me to lie to him. And I did it anyway."

"Why?" Cate asked, her guilt worsening even further, not just because of the lie to her father, but for the torture it seemed to put James through. "Why not tell him the truth if it eats at you so?"

James sighed and, without even bothering to see that none of the third class passengers were watching, stepped forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. "Because I love you," he whispered when they parted after a long moment. "And I'm much more willing to risk everything else before that. Surely you've realized that by now?"

Cate was stunned. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that. She wanted to both cry for joy and fear from what Will would say if he found out that James had said such a thing to her. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, James cut across her.

"I know I shouldn't say it," he said quickly, taking his hands from her face and stepping backward. "I know it's not proper for me to say it, certainly not after I've only known you a week and when neither of us knows what the future has in store for us both. And I know I shouldn't say it to _you_ of all people, someone who is so far beyond my reach, so far above my station, and you're more than my lot in life should ever allow, but I simply can't wait any longer—I'm a very impatient person, you know—I love you, Cate Murdoch. I do, truly. _That_ is why I am willing to and why I want to risk everything."

"James—"

"Perhaps it's insane," James continued, apparently unable to hear her. "Perhaps _I'm_ insane for wanting a life with someone like you, when some other man could give you so much more than I can or will ever be able to. But it seems I can't help but love you, someone so intelligent, and witty, and so utterly breathtaking." James sighed and passed a hand over his face. "I feel so lucky to have found you even though I may have to throw away everything to keep you. If you'll have me, that is."

" _James_ ," Cate said loudly, shutting down his tirade. He looked at her, his eyes wide and almost pleading. Her heart was hammering and she felt almost dizzy with euphoria. Then, surprised at her own daring, she closed the gap between them once more by stepping forward, placing her hand on the back of his neck, and pulling his head down to press her lips to his. James responded eagerly to her kiss, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her close as she wound her arms around his neck.

"I love you, too," she whispered against his lips when they parted.

James beamed, looking happier than she had ever seen him. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her close, and she nestled the side of her face into his chest, holding him just as tightly. And finally, for the first time in her life, Cate knew she was where she was meant to be.

Cate and James stayed on the stern of the ship for as long as James' work would allow. He told her about his life in Scarborough, his three elder sisters—Victoria, Eve, and Alice—and how they had teased and tormented him, their baby brother, for years until he went off at the age of about fifteen to become a sailor. He spoke of a loving household, of a father who was stern but kind and a mother who always had a smile on her face and was always, always baking. Some of James' first memories, he said, were of wading amongst the waves. Cate smiled at the image of James as a baby, laughing, dimples in his cheeks.

But when James wanted to hear more about Cate's own childhood, she waved him off, insisting that she had spoken enough about herself for a lifetime.

"There is nothing interesting about growing up preparing to be a debutante," said Cate, shaking her head.

James shrugged. "You could say the same about a lower middle class living by the sea, couldn't you? I'm interested in everything to do with you. You say I've heard enough, but I feel that I know so little about you, someone who's father is a sailor from Scotland and whose mother was a wealthy American socialite? You've still not told me your whole story, Cate."

"There's nothing to tell," said Cate, leaning once more on the white railing. "My sister and I were mistakes—I more so than she, I suppose, since I came along unexpectedly after her. And my father is a hypocrite."

"How so?"

Cate sighed. She was treading on dangerous ground, a subject that no one had dared mention in years—at least, not until Cate had insinuated just that morning that Will wasn't even her father. But her anger remained at her father's continued meddling, and so she continued speaking.

"I don't even know the whole story," she said. "He refuses to talk about it. But from what little I've been able to get him to admit, he met Sophie—my mother—in a pub in Liverpool one evening in January when she was snowed in and unable to continue on to her home in Wiltshire. He was about nineteen and she was eighteen. Later, when my maternal grandmother, Beth, found out Sophie was pregnant, she sent Sophie to live with Beth's sister, Josephine, in Montréal. Sophie wrote to my father about Lillian and me, and he came and took us to Scotland."

"And that makes him a hypocrite?" James asked.

"He's a hypocrite for insisting how improper it is for me to speak to you," Cate said, growing frustrated. "He met and bedded a young woman in the same night, but I can't even speak to you in a park without him thinking that I'm going to run away with you."

"But your father wasn't a member of the pub staff or something," said James. "Part of the reason he forbids it is because I'm a member of the crew, isn't it?"

But Cate shook her head bitterly. "If it weren't for my grandparents, he wouldn't care," she said. "But they've poisoned him."

"Yes, where do your grandparents come into this?" James asked. "You say your father took you to Scotland from Canada, so shouldn't that have been the end of it?"

"It should have," said Cate with a sigh. "But it wasn't. Michel died in a train crash a year or two after Lillian and I were born and then Sophie contracted tuberculosis and died when we were not quite five." She rolled her eyes and bent forward so that her elbows rested on the railing, feeling less and less like an elegant lady with each passing second. "Adam and Beth were without an heir to inherit their fortune and Adam's title of viscount, and so they wrote to my father after Sophie died and offered to send my father a very large monthly stipend if he agreed to bring us to Philadelphia to live so we could learn to be perfect little princesses, and then to send us to school in Oxford when we were ten. My father stipulated that we should return to Dalbeattie each year over the summer and Christmas, but other than that, that was all he needed to be rid of us."

"I don't think your father wanted to be rid of you," James said quietly. "I know he loves you, Cate. You're all he could speak of from the moment we embarked in Belfast—you and your sister—what was her name again? Jillian?"

Cate smiled at his unexpected levity, not quite sure if he had misremembered her sister's name on purpose. It was strange, she realized, for her to know someone that her twin did not. The two had always been grouped together, whether they wanted to be or not, always known as "Lillian and Catharine," never individually by anyone except their family in Scotland. Their paternal family had loved them so dearly, never caring about their illegitimacy, never loving Lillian any less even as she stopped reciprocating.

"Lillian," she corrected. "Lillian Marie Alton, certainly the one destined for the entirety of their vast fortune."

"Lillian Marie," James repeated. "And what's your full name? Shall I guess?"

Cate arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Good luck."

"Sophie?"

"I'd like to think my mother was that narcissistic to name her children after herself even though she had no intention of keeping us, but no."

"Beth?" James suggested.

"Her full name is Élisabeth, but also no."

James looked very thoughtful, staring at Cate intensely and stroking his chin. "Hmm," he said slowly. "What was your mother's full name, then?"

"Sophie Marie-Hélène Clément Alton." It felt strange to be speaking of her mother so casually, or even at all; Will never spoke of her, and though Beth spoke of her often, Cate tended to ignore her.

James blinked. "That's quite the mouthful."

Cate snorted. "Clément is Beth's maiden name—she gave it to both Michel and Sophie."

"So… Marie…Ellen, you said it was?"

"Hélène," Cate corrected him. "The _h_ is silent and the first syllable is a long _a_ sound—it's French."

"And is that your middle name?" James asked. "Catharine Hélène Murdoch Alton?"

"Yes," said Cate.. "Though my mother never wanted us, I often wonder why she felt it necessary to name us before my father came to collect us. And I wonder what my father would have named us if he had been given the choice. I once asked him why he never changed our names after we arrived in Scotland, but he never gave me an answer."

James shrugged. "Perhaps he likes the names?"

"I don't know," said Cate. "Maybe. He so rarely calls us anything but Cate or Lilly that sometimes it feels as though he _did_ change our names. I'm Cate or Catey in Scotland and nothing but Catharine in America. Though I've been trying to convince the other passengers to call me Cate now that my grandmother isn't here to stop them."

"You changed the subject from your father—"

"Actually, you did by asking me my middle name," Cate informed him.

"Mine is Paul, by the way," James said conversationally. "Anyway, you said your grandparents poisoned your father… but I think he would forbid us from seeing one another even if you had nothing to do with that side of your family—Mr. Murdoch seems to be very intent on following regulations."

"He is," Cate admitted, "but that's partly why he's a hypocrite, isn't it? Regulations wouldn't much permit him to have two daughters out of wedlock with a recently widowed young woman, would it? No one says much to Lillian and me, but I've heard my aunts and grandmother talk about it from time to time—the family was very much disappointed and surprised when he told them that he had fathered a baby, not to mention when he returned with two instead of just one."

James shrugged again. "Perhaps we all do things that are a bit out of character from time to time," he said. "I never would have thought falling in love with an heiress and going behind the backs of my superiors was in my character, and yet here I am."

Cate couldn't help but smile at his words. The idea that he, someone so kind, and funny, and gentle, could love her seemed absolutely unbelievable, and yet he insisted it was true. The only example she had ever seen of truly lasting love had been her grandparents and aunts and uncles, but she had never really thought that such a thing would be possible for her. She felt so light and happy when she was with him, as if all her troubles melted away, but she knew that falling in love with him had added seemingly insurmountable complications to her already complicated life. Cate just wasn't sure she was ready to face them yet.

* * *

 _Evening_

 _James told me he loved me today. I was quite surprised and I think he was, too. He told me on the stern of the ship, in the area reserved for third class passengers. Of the two of us, only he had a right to be there, but we were away from the other people, hidden behind a large crane and rope crank. I wish we didn't have to hide, but perhaps that's one the reasons why this is all so exciting. My father would surely explode if he knew that James, the man he's forbidden me from seeing, and I have fallen in love and that he kissed me the other night. And, admittedly, several times since then._

 _But I cannot help myself: I know I love James with every fiber of my being. I just wish I could explain it to Da and that he would understand and accept it. But that's impossible. He and I seem to be moving so quickly, so in love after only a week together, but I've never felt happier than I feel now. I wasn't even sure that what I was feeling was love, never before have I felt such a thing, but as soon as James said it to me, I knew what I felt the same. There is no doubt in my mind._

 _I wonder if this is what Lillian feels for Daniel Norcross. He is a very handsome mind, and he has always seemed to be quite kind, but he's not the sort of man that Lillian is usually interested in; she was ever so put out when Cal Hockley proposed to Rose and not her, but I don't think Cal ever had his sights on anyone_ _but_ _Rose; he danced with other women and even courted them, but the moment Rose made her debut, he seemed devoted to her, even though she seems fairly apathetic in return. Grand-mère thinks that Ruth is forcing Rose to marry him, but why wouldn't Rose want to? He is certainly handsome, and he seems very kind. But maybe, like Lillian, that's not Rose's "type."_

 _On the other hand, I don't know that I've ever had a type before I met James. Men simply never interested me much, but I can't think of anything other than James. He occupies my thoughts constantly, and the image of his smile makes me smile in return, even if everything else around me is somber._

 _The great question that seems to hover over us, though, seems to drift lower and lower with each passing second: what will happen when the ship docks in New York?_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Hey, everyone! Sorry for my absence over the past month-and-a-half. Admittedly, I got a bit distracted with other stuff, but now I've returned! As always, thanks immensely for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! -PB**

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _Friday, April 12, 1912_

As Charles Lightoller made his rounds throughout the ship, Will appeared on the Bridge. At ten o'clock, night had long since descended over _Titanic_ , leaving a sort of hush over her crew as passengers retired for the evening, or smoked one last cigar, or took one last swig of whisky. Boxhall and Moody stood still as statues on either side of the Navigating Bridge, their hands clasped behind their backs, and Will made his way from one end to the other before going to the Chart Room and checking on the ship's position and navigation. There was an always an eerie sort of calm over the whole area at this time of night, one that seemed to prevent the officers from speaking much.

"All in order," said Lights when he returned, straightening his right glove. He walked with Will back into the Chart Room, away from the two junior officers and the quartermaster. "Keep an eye on Moody," he said quietly, glancing out through the door and through the glass of the Wheel House, though they could see neither of the other officers from where they stood. "He seems about ready to drop, poor fellow. I don't know if he's slept at all today."

Will's interest was piqued, first out of concern for Moody and then, though he tried to suppress it, suspicion. He nodded and, when Lights bid him a good evening, went back out onto the Navigating Bridge. Indeed, looking more closely at Moody, though he stood almost perfectly still, he wavered a bit and, every so often, brought a gloved fist to his mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Moody?" Will asked, standing beside the wheel.

James jumped, appearing to break from a deep trance. He looked at his superior, dark circles visible under his eyes even in the dim light.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, nodding shortly, "quite alright."

Will wanted to press the matter, almost like he would if it was Catey or Lilly who looked so fatigued, as if he should scold Moody for not sleeping enough, but he was cut off by Captain Smith's arrival onto the Bridge. Will turned immediately toward the skipper with respectful attention, though the latter seemed quite relaxed in comparison. Will relayed what Lights had told him, informing the captain of the ship's position, the temperature of the air and the water, and everything in between, and Smith nodded.

"All is well elsewhere?" he asked, walking past Moody and peering down the long Boat Deck down the starboard side of the ship. "No problems?"

"None, sir," said Will. "Mr. Lightoller informed me of an ice warning received about an hour ago, but nothing other than that."

Smith nodded again. They talked for a bit, noting the colder weather, how it would become even darker as the moon continued to wane.

"I've just come from sending a message to my daughter," said Smith with a smile. Will knew that the captain had a young girl, Helen, at about thirteen or fourteen years old. He had once joked to Will, knowing that his First Officer had two girls of his own, asking if raising a daughter would become any easier; Will had informed him that, no, it would not. "And how is your charming young lady? Catharine, isn't it? Mr. Andrews mentioned that he dined with her our first night out and quite enjoyed her company."

"Yes, sir, Catharine," said Will, smiling at the mention of her. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Do you see much of her on your time off?"

"Not much, no," Will admitted. "She's quite busy, as you can imagine, with the other passengers. But I know she thinks the world of your ship."

Captain Smith smiled again. "I'm glad. Bring her up to the Bridge again, if you like. I'm sure these young lads' spirits could do with some bolstering from the presence of a lovely lady. Isn't that right, Mr. Boxhall? Mr. Moody?"

Boxhall chuckled and agreed, while Moody managed a stiff jerk of the head that might have passed for a nod before turning back to face the front windows. Captain Smith seemed to have missed his discomfort, but Will hadn't. Although, perhaps he was imagining it; perhaps Moody was simply too tired to engage in any light-hearted banter at the moment.

After the captain retired for the evening, all was quiet once more on the Bridge. The officers went about their business, speaking here and there, but for the most part remaining silent. Will's mind wandered to the conversation he had had with Catey that morning… she had so readily lied to him—for he was certain that she had lied—but did that mean James was lying, too, when he said he hadn't been with her? Cate had said she was with some first class passenger whose name Will couldn't even remember; even if she had been lying about that, it didn't necessarily mean that the only other alternative was that she had been with Moody, and Will most more inclined to believe him than his own daughter, who could barely look him in the eye whilst withholding the truth. Cate's lies about where she had been, coupled with Moody's day-long fatigue made Will more and more concerned. Yet he wasn't sure how he could get the truth out of either of them.

As Will walked into the Chart Room, he looked down at the log of the ship's position. It had been consistently entered from the moment they had left Southampton, the signatures alternating between all four junior officers over the days. The most recent one, however, caught his attention. It was scrawled untidily and, though it was unremarkable at first glance, a quick look at the position before, written by Third Officer Herbert Pitman, told him that it was impossible for _Titanic_ to have traveled so far in such a small amount of time. It didn't take him long to realize that, while the previous entries seemed to be perfect, the last one was far from one it should be. Written beside the incorrect position was the sloppy signature of James Moody, just before Will had come on duty.

"Mr. Moody, could you come in here, please?" Will called through the open door.

"Yes, sir." Immediately, Moody turned and trooped obediently into the Chart Room, looking steadily at his superior officer, though Moody was a couple inches taller than he.

"How did you come up with this position?" Will asked, nodding at the navigation chart.

Moody blinked slowly, as if trying very hard to focus. Up close, the dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced. "Sir?"

"The most recent position," said Will. "How did you calculate it?"

"Dead reckoning, sir," said James. "As usual, after the evening celestial calculation."

"I'm afraid it's incorrect," said Will. "Your calculation is off."

James blinked again and moved closer to the chart, looking down at it. He stared for a while before, finally, comprehension dawned on his face. For the first time, emotion broke his cool, officer's façade, and he groaned, passing a hand over his face.

"I apologize, sir," he said, quickly writing in the correct calculation. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

"It's alright," Will assured him. "You just need to be more careful: if there was an accident, the most recent calculation is where we would look to find our position in order to send for help. But you know this."

"I do, sir," Moody said with a nod. "I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

Will studied him. All of the junior officers, working four hours on and four hours off, were tired. It was natural with such a difficult, strict schedule. But Moody was beyond the other three in terms of fatigue, as if he wasn't sleeping at all or very little during his off-hours. It seemed as if he and Lowe often had hushed conversations that they quickly ceased when anyone came near, but Will wasn't about to approach the Fifth Officer and ask why Moody, who was probably his closest friend on board the _Titanic_ , wasn't getting any sleep and was having difficulty functioning. Yet Will couldn't stop his suspicion; if Moody wasn't sleeping during his off-hours, then what was he doing?

* * *

 _Monday, May 2, 1904_

New York City was loud and dusty: that was the impression Cate always got whenever she visited the bustling metropolis. She walked dutifully beside her twin sister, their eyes on the back of their grandmother's hat and not on any beggars huddled against buildings or horse-drawn carriages clattering by on the dirty streets. Normally, when the Altons traveled to their home in Manhattan, Cate and Lillian were either left behind in Philadelphia or remained inside the New York mansion—though slightly smaller than the one in Pennsylvania—for the duration of the trip. This week, however, Lord Cowanshire had important business in New York, and because the girls' governess, Madame Tremblay, was back home in Drummondville, Québec due to the death of her sister. So Beth, immensely annoyed, was forced to bring her two granddaughters along while she went shopping and visiting.

Passersby smiled and tipped their hats at the two young ladies in their matching lavender dresses, their golden hair hanging in waves down their backs. The weather was warm, reminding them that it was almost time to return to Scotland… almost. Until then, it was quiet, somber meals with their grandparents, being snapped at to stand up straight, or to practice their French, or suppress their native Scottish accent more than they were already doing. That was life day in and day out, rarely diverting from lessons unless there was some sort of garden party or if the Altons received the rare invitation with their "charming granddaughters" included. Both Cate and Lillian longed to attend a prestigious day school nearby for young ladies in upper class so they could meet others their own age, but Beth refused: what if they should tell one of their classmates their true parentage, that their real father was a penniless Scottish sailor, and ruin everything? So they were, for the most part, kept shut away unless under strict supervision.

" _Vite_!" Élisabeth snapped, throwing her head back to glare at the girls for a moment.

It occurred to Cate, for one wild moment, that she could run; she could seize Lillian's hand and they could run far, far away from their grandmother and this country where no one seemed to love them or want them like they were loved and wanted at home. They could run across the ocean into their father's waiting arms, and they could stay with him forever.

While Lillian hurried to catch up with their grandmother, Cate became distracted by a man selling bouquets of flowers. He had bunches of cornflowers, and freesias, and gerberas, and vivid purple irises, and daisies, and red, white, and pink roses, and sunflowers, Cate's favorite. Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at the vast array of colors and smells. The man, catching her staring, smiled at her.

"Hello, little missy," he said. "Care to buy a flower for your mother?"

"My mother's dead," Cate said calmly, "and I don't have any money."

Cate's longing to have a mother had long since evaporated, and for years her father had been all she needed. At not quite eleven, she found that her sister was exceeding in becoming a young lady fit to be a debutante, while all Cate wanted to do was hide under her bed back in Dalbeattie. Soon they would be wearing corsets, lengthening their dresses, and, eventually, turning up their hair and debuting in society. Lillian couldn't wait, but Cate was terrified. And as she looked up at the beautiful flowers, she felt like a little girl again, entranced by the pretty colors.

The man rolled his eyes. "Well, move along then."

"Now, that's not a way to speak to a lady."

A young man had approached; the first thing she noticed about him was that he was British. He was older than Cate, but much younger than the man selling flowers. Cate couldn't guess how old he was, only that he was probably a teenager. He smiled brightly at her.

"Which flower would you like, miss?" he asked kindly, looking down at her with sparkling eyes.

But Cate was frozen with fear and anxiety; she hated talking to strangers more than anything, which made outings with Beth while she shopped and made calls unbearable. But the teenager didn't press her. He looked at the vendor.

"One daisy, please," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small number of coins.

The vendor rolled his eyes and plucked a small daisy from the bunch and handed it to the teenager, who gave him one of the coins. The young man turned to Cate and smiled again, holding his hand out to give her the pretty white and yellow flower. It wasn't a sunflower, but Cate was pleased by the boy's generosity and the beauty of the simple flower. Timidly, she took it.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly.

"Anything for a lovely lady such as yourself," said the boy, bowing. As he did so, he reached out to take her hand and kiss the top of it quickly.

" _Catharine!_ " Cate heard her grandmother's screech and winced. She turned to see Beth dragging Lillian along behind her, spots of angry color visible in her cheeks. " _T'es allée où_?" she demanded. "Come! Now!"

The young man looked fairly alarmed, but not as alarmed as Cate felt. She wanted to hide behind him, despite knowing how childish it would be to do so.

"I am very sorry for my granddaughter," said Beth in the thick accent she had never been able to shake, often incorrectly placing a word's inflection on the final syllable. "She is often running off. I am sorry that she has bothered you."

This was a lie: Cate never ran off; it was Lillian who usually did that. But perhaps Beth had forgotten who was whom, as she so often did.

"Oh, she was no bother at all," the young man insisted.

But Beth wasn't listening. She released Lillian and seized Cate's upper arm before dragging her in the opposite direction without another word to the young man or the flower vendor. Cate kept a tight hold to the small daisy, hoping that Beth wouldn't notice it and take it away from her.

Cate managed to make it to the bedroom she shared with Lillian that night without Beth or Adam noticing the daisy, keeping her hands behind her back. However, the moment the door was closed behind her, Lillian whirled around from where she stood beside her four-poster bed.

"Where did you get the flower?" she demanded, crossing her arms imperiously.

"Nowhere," Cate muttered. She crossed the room to the small vanity where her Chinese sewing box lay closed. But Lillian watched her, her eyes narrowed.

"If you got it from nowhere, then why are you saving it?" Lillian pressed as Cate opened the lid to the box and shifted aside some of the contents one of the compartments.

Cate ignored her, but Lillian continued to press the issue until, finally, she confessed that a young man had bought it for her at the flower stand before Grand-mère had shown up to drag her away.

"Aw, are you in _love_ , Catey?" Lillian cackled, dancing around the room.

"No!" Cate snapped, slamming the lid of the box closed. The flower, its stem too long to fit in the box, rested on the surface of the vanity. She turned her back to it as her sister continued to tease until, finally, the head housemaid, Mabel, came in to tell them to go to sleep. Cate turned over in her bed to face the wall, listening to the sounds of the city far below their window. Who had the man been, she wondered. He had been handsome, she admitted to herself, with his light blue eyes and brown hair. But what she had especially liked best was the dimple in each cheek.

* * *

 _Saturday, April 13, 1912_

The daisy. Cate's eyes snapped open as the memory of that day nearly nine years ago washed over her. She lay in bed, staring up at the top of her four-poster bed, the pale hangings shut tightly around her to block out the light of the bright morning. She had woken a while ago, but had allowed herself to drift from daydream to memory, as if she was a piece of paper floating down on the wind. She was awake earlier than normal, and she knew Esther would be in at any moment to draw her bath, but until then, she dozed and drifted in a blurred world.

Cate hadn't thought about that day in Manhattan in years. She had woken to find the daisy gone, and she never had learned what had happened to it. Lillian insisted that she had done nothing, and so Cate had been left to deduce that it was either Beth or one of the servants who had done away with it. She had been distraught, but after a while, she had forgotten it. And that summer, back in Dalbeattie, when Will had asked what adventures she had had in America, Cate hadn't thought of the handsome young man with the daisy, the one with the blue eyes, and the easy smile, and the dimple in each cheek. It couldn't be… could it? It didn't seem possible.

When Esther did come, she was surprised to see Cate already awake and hurried to draw her bath. Cate went through the motions of getting ready for the day, but her mind was stuck on that day in New York. She wished she could remember it more clearly, that she could remember what had happened after Beth dragged her away from the flower vendor, but all she could bring to the forefront of her mind were bits and pieces of the image she was trying to conjure. Cate remembered spinning the small daisy in her hand that night as she sat on the edge of her bed before, finally, setting it down beside the Chinese sewing box on the vanity. Then it had disappeared. She hadn't thought about that day in years, so why had the memory come to her once more as she was slowly returning from her dreams?

"Do you think," Cate began as Esther began styling her hair in front of the vanity once she had bathed and was laced tightly into her corset and pale blue dress, "that everything happens for a reason?"

If Esther was confused or taken aback by the question, she didn't show it. She continued to adeptly swirl Cate's honey-colored hair up and pin it into place, her fingers working deftly.

"I think so, Miss Cate," Esther replied after a moment. "I'm not sure that I believe in coincidences."

Cate wanted to press her: did she believe that it was possible for her to meet a man by chance and then fall in love with him nine years later? Did Esther think that the handsome teenaged boy who had bought her the daisy could indeed be James? Cate was desperate to find him and ask him outright if he remembered a young girl, or if he had even ever been to New York before. They had agreed to meet at eight-thirty that morning, right after he went off duty. Cate had tried to insist that he should sleep, instead, but James had refused, saying that he would rather spend time with her while he had the chance.

"Will you be eating breakfast, miss?" Esther asked after a silence.

Cate shook her head, reaching for the pair of gloves that rested on the vanity.

"Breakfast doesn't usually agree with me," she said as she pulled them on. "I think I'll just take a stroll around the ship until I find someone interesting."

Esther smiled and picked up the wide-brimmed, blue hat topped with white ribbon and blue and cream-colored flowers. For the most part, what she had said was the truth; she and James would meet one another at the stern again, but until then, Cate had nothing to do and no one to see. It was a very freeing sensation. She would be eating lunch with Helen Newsom and several other young ladies that her new friend had gathered, such as Emily Ryerson and Mrs. Madeline Astor, but all Cate could focus on was seeing James.

True to her word, Cate did wander around the decks for a bit before going to the stern. As she strolling along the promenade on A-Deck, she came upon the Hockley party, as she often seemed to do. Rose looked positively radiant in a brilliant yellow dress, her vivid hair uncovered and pinned perfectly. She smiled when Cate approached and, for a moment, Cate wished they could retire to the Lounge and continue their discussion on _Dracula_.

"Good morning, my dear," said Cal.

Cate smiled and took his offered hand so he could kiss hers before kissing both Rose and Ruth on each cheek. Both the Hockleys and the Dewitt Bukaters were extremely prominent families in Philadelphia; more often than not, if there was a function held by a well-to-do family, Cate would see at least one member of each there, whether it be Cal representing for his parents and three siblings, or all of them together. Likewise, Rose and Ruth were very present at various events, and so too had been Mr. Charles Dewitt Bukater until his death just over a year ago. As for Cate and Lillian, the moment they had turned up their hair and lengthened their skirts, they had been thrust into the spotlight of every event imaginable from dinners, to galas, to parties, to polo matches, and luncheons, and sports games. Though their parlor suite was just a few doors down from Cate's cabin, she was surprised that she saw them so often, realizing that it was not beyond the realm of possibility for Beth to have asked Ruth to keep an eye on her.

"We've gathered a large group for dinner in the saloon tonight," said Cal. "Andrews and Ismay, Lady Rothes, the Duff Gordons… would you care to join us?"

"I should be delighted," Cate replied, simultaneously wishing that she could instead be with James, though she knew he would be working then and that, even if he wasn't, she would insist that he should be sleeping.

After they parted, Cate continued on her way down the promenade deck. What would she do, she wondered, if she did not receive an invitation for either luncheon or dinner one day? Would she go down to the reception room on D-Deck and mill about, hoping that someone would take pity on her and invite her to join them? While Cate didn't exactly enjoy long meals and talking about nothing to people she scarcely knew, even she knew enough that it would be "social suicide," as her grandmother called it, not to be invited to dine with someone whilst on a voyage. Beth would die of shame if she were to receive word that Cate had been seen dining all alone, perhaps in some shadowy corner of the saloon. Her mind turned to Ruth Dewitt Bukater, a close friend of Beth's: it was possible—probable, even—that she and Cal invited Cate to dine with them so often because Beth had asked them to do so. The thought was embarrassing, but at least Cate didn't dislike either Cal nor Rose… but it was disconcerting, the thought that Beth still could have a hold on her even whilst she was in the middle of the north Atlantic.

* * *

The aft B-Deck corridor was deserted, save for a blond stewardess backing out of one of the cabins, her arms laden with linens. Though he was the First Officer and had every right to be there, Will felt almost like he was a small boy who had been caught doing something he shouldn't when the stewardess, whom he knew vaguely as Lucy, caught sight of him. But she smiled and bobbed her head in a short nod before continuing on her way. He was just on his rounds, that was what she probably thought. It was, after all, a logical explanation.

From what Will could remember, his daughters were expected to be out of bed no later than eight o'clock whilst they were with their grandparents. And while he knew Cate hated being awake any earlier than noon, he had distinct memories of her shuffling out of bed on her own, much earlier than she would like, because she had become so used to waking up early. He was fairly certain that, at nine o'clock, Cate would have left her room and, though he knew she wouldn't eat breakfast, that she was perhaps wandering about, socializing or reading. Despite the fact that he knew his daughter would not be there, Will continued toward the cabin.

The door to B-76 loomed before him, and Will knocked quickly and softly, lest Esther should be inside, or he should be wrong and Cate _was_ , in fact, still asleep or getting ready. There was no answer though, and, after a moment of waiting, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. The cabin was empty, as expected, with the rectangular window opened and letting in a billowing breeze, ruffling the curtains of the bed. Will's mouth was dry and his heart was pounding, and he hated himself as his eyes fell upon the Chinese sewing box resting on the writing desk, and he remembered what Cate had told him last Saturday, just over a week ago, when he had asked her what she kept in it. _"My diary, for one thing_ ," she had said with a smile. And neither of them would ever have dreamed what Will would do with this information.

Catey had always been an avid writer. Always. She was always coming up with stories and poems, and when she wasn't making up tales, she was recounting her own life in countless diaries that she bought for pennies at marketplaces or that Will brought for her. Catey always insisted that she had no talent for writing, but Will knew otherwise. He believed, however, that she squashed her desire to be a writer because there was no point in hoping for such a thing. His insides twisted even further, yet he continued to step forward and remove open the lid of the beautiful, ornate box.

There, nestled in one of the compartments, was a small, leather-bound book. It was too small to be a novel, and bore no title nor signature. He saw the other trinkets she had mentioned, but he could only focus on the diary. Will sighed and passed a hand over his face before removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. How could he have stooped so low as to come into Cate's cabin to read her diary? But, he reminded himself, he had to know. It was his right as her father to know, and she was bent on not telling him the truth. It wasn't as if Will wanted to hurt her—far from it—but he knew that if she had a relationship with James Moody that it would not, could not work out. He needed to protect her from that.

 _It's for your own good, lass_ , Will thought, thinking of the look that would appear on her beautiful face if she were to find out what he was doing—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger. The girls always looked so much like their mother when they were angry. Swallowing, Will sat down at the writing desk and picked up the diary.

The first page was dated the first of January that year. _This is the first time I am beginning a new year without Lillian_ , she had written, her handwriting elegant and slanted. _Sometimes I feel that I miss her, and others I feel like I am lucky to be without her. Uncle Sam is coming to take me to his cottage so that I might see Gwen today—I simply can't get through the mountain of snow_. Will skimmed ahead, stopping when he caught the word"Father" written that February.

 _Sometimes I miss him so fiercely, I feel that I should buy a ticket to whatever ship he's on and sail with him. Not that that's even possible, but sometimes I like to dream about it. I received a letter from him yesterday, telling me that he is to be the Chief Officer aboard the RMS_ _Titanic_ _for her maiden voyage in April. No one mentions the great ship here, but it's all anyone can talk about back in Philadelphia. Here, it's all simple things—the crops, the market, which cousin is having a baby when. In America, people actually plan to board the grand, luxurious liner just for entertainment and to say they did. Perhaps I shall write to one of them to tell my father "hello," since I will be unable to do so myself until Lillian's wedding in June._

Will shook his head quickly. Why was he reading entries from so long ago? He flipped through the pages until he reached the fifth of April, the day of her arrival in Southampton. He was immediately engrossed in his daughter's life—her thoughts, her feelings, and the immense sadness she felt. Will felt his guilt return in waves. He'd known she was melancholy, but he'd had no idea as to the depths of her sadness from leaving Scotland. Wasn't that what she had been trying to tell him from the beginning? Yet he had brushed her off because he had not wanted to deal with the guilt of forcing her into this life.

He read of her meeting with Moody, but she only mentioned that they had talked at a café, one she used to take coffee at with Lillian. Then again in the park. Cate wrote that he was funny and handsome, but nothing other than that. Will continued to read. Then, under the entry of the previous Thursday, he found it: " _James. I think I have feelings for him_."

Cate wrote that she was meeting him on the promenade deck that night. Then—anger swelled within Will has he read it—" _H_ _opefully Da will not give Esther too much trouble when he realizes that I have purposefully avoided him. But I have years and years to argue with Da… as far as I know, I only have a few days with James._ "

Though Will had known—or at least suspected—it all along, he could not help but feel renewed fury at her lies. As he read on, though, his anger only grew. Though, this time, it was accompanied by sadness. " _My father would surely explode if he knew that James, the man he's forbidden me from seeing, and I have fallen in love and that he kissed me the other night. And, admittedly, several times since then._ " There it was. His proof that what he had believed all along was true: Cate and Moody were courting secretly and had been for several days now. It was the final entry in the diary, and it did not seem as though the two had been lovers—if they had, Will wasn't sure he could keep himself from throttling the lad. But he had been right: Cate was in love with James Moody and wanted to throw away everything he had tried to give her. And there was certainly no way that Will could let that happen.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 _Saturday, April 13, 1912_

James Moody came on duty at noon. Will watched him leave his cabin, the smallest stateroom of all the officers, yawning as he placed his hat on his head. He lingered for a little longer, unable to stop himself from wondering if his own daughter would sneak out of the cabin a few moments later. But she did not. Moody arrived on the Bridge alone, still looking more tired than the other junior officers, but not as utterly exhausted as he had during his last shifts.

"Morning, princess," Lowe cackled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Finally get some sleep, did you?"

Will, who stood on the opposite side of the Bridge, wondered if Lowe realized that he was within earshot. Moody certainly seemed to, as his grumbled response was unintelligible. It was time for the "changing of the guard," as it were, as noon had arrived and Lowe and Third Officer Herbert Pitman were off, set to be replaced by Moody and Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall. Will had been on duty since ten, just after he had left Cate's stateroom, and would be in charge of the ship for another two hours. This, he realized, was his only chance to speak to Moody without anyone else overhearing and interfering. He had left a note on Cate's desk saying that he had stopped by to see her and to meet him there at two o'clock that afternoon. Hopefully she would see it and actually do as he instructed.

When Lowe and Pitman left, leaving Moody and Boxhall to settle into the routine of beginning their shifts, Will walked once more around the Bridge. With his hands clasped behind his back, strolling leisurely, he went over and over again in his head what he was planning to say to both Moody and his daughter. His heart was pounding and his mouth felt dry from nerves, but he knew this was for the best. It had to be done, and it had to be done now. Will approached the Navigating Bridge again, this time from the starboard side, and stopped in the entryway and studied the scene: Moody was on the other side of the great wheel, standing ramrod straight, staring directly ahead. Immediately, Will was filled with the fury that this man, his own colleague, had gone behind his back and kissed his daughter. Not just that—he had _fallen in love_ _with her_ and then lied to him about it! It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to stride across the Bridge and punch Moody in the face. But he resisted, his jaw clenched tight, his hands clasped tightly behind him.

"Mr. Moody," he said, clearing his throat and starting toward him, "come here, please."

Will had intended to sound a little more inviting, but it had come across more as a barked order. Indeed, he saw Boxhall turn his head, surprised, his eyebrows raised, as Moody practically scurried from where he stood and followed Will into the charting room. This time, Will closed the door behind them. He took a breath as Moody turned around to face him, his expression as unreadable as ever, though Will searched it for some sign of acknowledgement that he had been found out.

"Mr. Moody," Will said again, fortunately sounding calmer this time, "I know the truth. I know about you and my daughter."

There was a silence. For a moment, James only stared at him, his mouth slightly agape, his blue eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sir—" he sputtered at last, but Will cut him off; he didn't want to hear him try to deny it.

"No," said Will, holding up a hand. "Please don't lie to me again, Mr. Moody. I've heard directly from the source what has transpired between you and Catharine over the past week."

"She—" James stammered, "she told—"

"In a manner of speaking," Will said tightly, guilt seeping through him once more. But he shoved it aside. "The point is, I know, Mr. Moody. I know that you've been involved with my daughter, against my wishes and against your regulations as an officer."

Moody heaved a sigh. At last, he said, "Yes, sir."

There was no satisfaction in knowing that Moody had admitted the truth to him. None whatsoever. If anything, Will felt worse, if that were even possible. With the look of resignation on Moody's face, Will knew what was going through the lad's head: his career was over; he had been found out by, not only the lady's father, but the ship's First Officer, who would tell the Captain and send James packing the moment they reached dry land. His career was going up in smoke for the love of a girl.

"I'm not going to tell the skipper," Will said, sounding more gentle than he had expected.

Moody, who had been drowning in midair, snapped his eyes back to Will's. He exhaled sharply. "Sir," he breathed, "I—"

"Yes, you broke the rules," Will interrupted. "Officers are certainly not to have much to do with passengers, other than pointing them in the right direction and telling them what time luncheon is served. And I have enough information to have you removed, not only from _Titanic_ as her Sixth Officer, but from White Star Line in its entirety. And you must understand, Mr. Moody, that there is more to this than me reprimanding you for fraternizing with a passenger; you see, it wasn't just a passenger, it was _my daughter_ you were courting. It was Cate, my little girl. You both went behind my back and lied to me to my face."

"But…" Moody said slowly, "…you're not going to tell Captain Smith, sir?"

"No," said Will, "I'm not. I'm not _against_ you, Mr. Moody. I'm not against either of you. God knows I want Catharine to be happy after everything she has been through with her grandparents and living in Philadelphia—I assume she's told you everything?"

"Yes, sir," Moody muttered, sounding sheepish.

"Yes, well… I gave up any right to my daughters to two people who are, to put it bluntly, utter arses. They are not very good people, and yet I sent Catharine and her sister to live with them and to be raised, for the most part, by them. Why? Because they have unimaginable amounts of money. Lillian has thrived, but Catharine abhors the life that I forced her into, and I've turned a blind eye to her unhappiness until now." Will sighed. "Don't you think that, if given the chance, I would do what I could so Catey could be happy? I know she could be happy with you, Mr. Moody, and I know you could be happy with her. If we lived in a better world, then it could be so. You've made her very happy over the past week, and for that I am grateful, but your relationship with her ends now."

Moody passed a hand over his face. The two had gone beyond having a discussion between a junior officer and his superior; it was now a conversation between a young man and the father of the woman he loved.

"Is it because of money, sir?" said Moody. "Because I have nothing to give her?"

Will sighed again. "As hypocritical as it makes me, yes, lad, it is. I sacrificed a life with my children so they could have lives I could never have a given them: lives as educated women with status and wealth, never worrying about how they would pay for their dinner, or how they would find another pair of shoes for their young child. Cate has worked toward a life where she will be safe from all of that, and though she is unhappy now, she will realize that this is for the best."

Moody swallowed. "Forgive me, sir," he said slowly, "but doesn't Ca—Miss Alton's—opinion matter in regards to her own life?"

It was a question bordering severely on impertinence. But Moody held his ground against Will's stern gaze.

"Do you honestly believe that her grandparents would let your relationship continue?" Will snapped, starting to grow angry. "They, her grandmother especially, would have your head on a spike if they knew Catharine had kissed a ship's officer in plain view of other passengers on the promenade deck. Money may not guarantee happiness in this world, Mr. Moody, but it certainly guarantees power, and the Altons have plenty of both. I'm telling you this now to protect the both of you. If you go public with your relationship with Cate, you will ruin her life. Is that what you want?"

Moody exhaled slowly. Instead of looking at the ground, though, he met Will's gaze directly. "No, sir."

"And do you love her?"

"Yes, sir," Moody replied immediately. "I love her very much."

"Then do her a favor, Mr. Moody, and let her go. Give her a chance to be happy in the life she's worked towards without throwing it all way. You owe it to her and you owe it to yourself to find someone else."

"But, sir," Moody said quietly after a moment, "with all due respect… I cannot simply let her go. I cannot fathom life without her. I know it has only been a week, and you must think me foolish for falling in love so quickly, but the truth remains that I have. I am very much in love with her, and I cannot let her go because her grandparents would disapprove."

Will sighed sharply. "It's not that simple, lad," he said. "Maybe you have indeed fallen in love within the span of the week, but you don't live in a fairytale. Do you think you can march up to the Altons' mansion doors and declare your love for her? They will tear you apart—not only would they have you arrested for trespassing, but they would likely accuse you of a whole manner of indiscretions, enough to ruin your reputation and prevent you from working for White Star, Cunard, or any respectable position, whether on sea or on land, and they will keep Cate under lock and key until you're out of the country. Please believe me when I say that there is nothing I want more than for my daughters to be happy, but this is not the way to go about it."

When Moody didn't reply, Will sighed and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I know it's hard, lad," he said. "I know what it's like to want something that's too far beyond my reach. But this is how it has to be."

* * *

Cate almost didn't see the note left by her father. She had returned to her stateroom after lunch with Helen Newsom, Madeleine Astor, Emily Ryerson, and Helen Bishop to rest for a bit before seeing James at four, when he was due to go off duty for two hours. It wasn't much time, but she had insisted on him using the hours between noon and four to sleep. If he only missed two, then she could feel less guilty and he could be more rested. As she was walking to the wardrobe to remove her hat, she saw the note with her father's familiar, distinct handwriting.

" _Catey_ ," it read, " _I came to call and you weren't here. Please be here at two o'clock this afternoon so we can talk. —Da_ "

Biting her lip slightly, Cate replaced the note and continued on to the wardrobe. She had no idea what her father could possibly want now. Hadn't they agreed not to fight anymore? Unless, she thought suddenly with a lurch in her stomach, someone had seen her and James at the stern and reported them. But surely she would know if that had happened. It would be the main topic of gossip among those in first class if that were the case. Nevertheless, Cate couldn't put her mind at ease. She eased the pins from her hair and lifted the hat from her head, thinking of how Esther would fret when she realized that she had not been there to assist. But Cate was glad her maid had some time to herself, which would indeed be scarce once they reached Philadelphia.

Thirty minutes later, as Cate lounged on the settee between the bed and the writing desk, there was a knock on the door. She sighed slightly, wishing she could simply nap away the two hours that separated her from James, rather than arguing with her father, which she was certain would happen. Their relationship had never been as tumultuous as it was now. Growing up, it was Lillian who had always acted out, and argued, and threw tantrums to get away. But Cate had always considered herself to be "the good one." Now she couldn't seem to spend five minutes with her father without arguing with him.

Cate didn't bother to slip her shoes back on as she stood and walked down the narrow passageway from the bulk of the room to the cabin door. She started to smile when she saw him standing before her, but it faded slowly when she saw how solemn and serious he looked. Immediately, she was filled with dread as she opened the door wider to let him in.

"Hello, Da," she said slowly, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry I missed you earlier. Did Esther let you in?"

Will didn't reply as he walked into the room. He glanced quickly at the writing desk before turning around to face her as she followed, sitting down on the settee, her hands resting on her thighs.

"There's no easy way to say this, lass," he said slowly, looking around at different parts of the room—the bed, the desk, the ribbon-back chair, anywhere but at her—before finally settling on her face.

"So maybe you should just say it." Cate's heart pounded. Oh, God. Whatever it was, this was not good.

Will let out a breath. "I know about you and Moody."

Just like before, there was a silence. However, Cate didn't look as shocked as James had; she merely stared at her father.

"He told you?" she said quietly, seeing no point in trying to deny anything. Though she was indeed surprised, she wasn't disbelieving that James had been unable to lie any longer. He had said himself that he never lied, and if Will had asked him again, Cate had doubted whether he would be able to lie again.

"No."

 _Now_ Cate was surprised. "Then how do you know?" she demanded. She wanted to ask if someone had seen them together on the stern, but she didn't want to volunteer such information if he actually had no idea that that had happened.

Will sighed. "I did it because I care about you," he said softly, "and because I want what's best for you."

" _How do you know_?" Cate repeated through gritted teeth. What had he done? She hadn't told anyone else, so no one could have told him. She doubted Harold Lowe would have said anything. What had he done because he cared about her? Quickly, she thought back. They hadn't seen one another since yesterday morning, and he had said he believed her then. So what had changed in the span of a day? She looked around the room, her eyes stopping on the note he had left on the writing desk with the fountain pen lying beside it. The note had come from a pad of paper, but she had placed the pen in the Chinese sewing box, which was closed and in its usual spot. The beloved box that contained all of her worldly possessions, like the Scottie dog, the giraffe from Cape Town… and her diary….

"You," she breathed, placing a hand over her heart, "you read…"

"I had to," Will said quickly, clearly trying to placate the anger he knew was coming. "You left me no choice, Catey! I had to know the truth."

Cate felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. Of any thought that had sped through her mind as to how he had found out, this was not one of them. Dear God, how could he have betrayed her like this?

"You read," she repeated, her voice stronger, staring at the box. "You read… you read… _you read it_?!" Cate's voice had risen to a shriek as she jumped to her feet. "You _read my diary_! Da, how could you?!"

"You left me no choice, Catharine!" Will repeated, taking a step back, as if afraid she might strike him. "I knew you were lying to me, and I knew there was something strange about Moody's behavior!"

"So you broke into my room—"

"I did not _break in_ —"

"—violated my privacy, and read something that is utterly sacred to me?!" Cate screamed. "How could you do that to me?!"

"I'm your father!" Will snapped, his anger now matching hers. "I had a right to know!"

"You lost any bloody right you had when you gave us up to Beth and Adam!"

"Don't speak to me that way!" Will yelled, taking a step toward her. She could not know how her words echoed so closely something he had said to Moody earlier. "I'm your father, Catharine, and I always will be! You can pout, and sigh, and say I never loved you, but you know that that's not the truth!"

"You should never have given me reason to say you never loved me," said Cate, angrily wiping away the tears that had rolled down her cheek. "You should never have left us on our own with people who hated us. Just because Lillian revels in her wealth and status doesn't mean I do, and now you're trying to take away the first thing in my life that has made me truly happy! Admit it: you have never wanted me to be happy!"

"That's not true, and you know it," said Will. "I love you, Catharine; I always have and I always will. There is nothing I want more than your and your sister's happiness."

"Bollocks!" Cate had never dared to speak to anyone, not even her sister, this way. She knew it was rude, unladylike, and quite improper, but she didn't much care at the moment. "If you wanted me to be happy, then you would have let me stay in Scotland the minute you found out that I hated our grandparents. But you didn't, did you? You put me right back on the boat again and again until I hated _you_ just as much!"

Will looked as if she had slapped him across the face. Cate felt a twinge of guilt, but she quickly suppressed it with her anger.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Will said quietly. "But the fact remains that you and Mr. Moody can no longer see each other."

"You can't stop—"

"I can tell the captain," Will interrupted. "I haven't yet, but I certainly can. Is that what you want, Cate? You want to ruin his career? He will be expelled from White Star Line the moment we reach New York, and he will never work on a ship again."

Cate opened her mouth to speak, but Will continued.

"Not to mention _your_ reputation," he said.

"I don't give a damn about my reputation," Cate snapped. "Why would I care what a lot of stuffy, old millionaires talk about over their brandy? What others think of means absolutely nothing, so that's an idle threat."

"Is it?" Will asked. "What about your sister's reputation? Lillian certainly cares what others think of her, seeing as she absolutely loves living as a socialite in America. If you and Moody went public with your relationship, what do you think would happen to your sister?"

"Lillian wouldn't be affected by any decision I've made," Cate insisted. "That's why I thought all along that they would pick her as their heiress and leave me out of it! I thought I could go back to Scotland once she married and I could be left in peace. But Grand-mère's plans just keep steaming on, no matter what I want!"

"And you think she just does it to be cruel?" said Will. " _Think_ , Cate. Think about what would happen if you ran off with Moody. Think about your sister. Of course, she would be affected! That your decisions affect her is the same reason Beth and Adam are still insisting that you live there, whether or not you inherit his title and their money. Do you really think that Lillian's reputation would survive her twin sister running off with an officer she met on _Titanic_? You may not care what others think, but Lillian certainly does, and you would not only ruin your life, you would ruin hers, as well. Is that what you want? To bring your sister down with you just so you can live out a fantasy?"

"A fantasy?" said Cate. "I _love_ him, Da. He's not just some lad I met in a pub in Liverpool one night!"

Will's jaw clenched. Cate immediately regretted her words, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she crossed her arms and continued to stare at him defiantly.

"You've done enough of throwing that in my face," Will growled. "I was young and foolish, but I'll not say I made a mistake when it resulted in you and Lilly. Perhaps you _are_ in love with him. But that means little, Catharine. Your relationship with him is _over_ , and if you try to take it any further, you'll have his career destroyed."

The very idea that James could lose his job because of her filled her with remorse. "James said he was willing to risk—"

"Mr. Moody is twenty-four years old and has no idea what his talking about," Will said sharply. "Have you been listening to me, Cate? His career will be _over_ if the captain finds out that he's been courting a passenger. The White Star Line will fire him and no other company will take him. You're living in a daze thinking that the two of you could get by only on love, but how do you expect to survive if he has no job and your grandparents have abandoned you? You think the scandal of the viscount's granddaughter would extend only to the upper class of Philadelphia? You'd be a laughing stock, Cate! Why do you think Beth and Adam had to come up with so many lies to cover where you and your sister came from? You're getting ready throw away your life _and_ his because you've fallen in love with him in the span of a week."

Cate turned away from him for a moment, staring at the curtains on her four-poster bed. She felt terribly confined in the small cabin, in spite of the open window and its cool breeze billowing in and rustling a few strands of loose hair hanging down by her face. When she had taken a moment to calm down, to prevent herself from screaming and arousing any of the other passengers, she turned back to face him.

"You would do that?" she asked. "You would turn him into the captain? Is that the kind of man you are?"

"Don't try to blackmail me with threats of honor," Will spat. "I don't want to turn the lad in to Captain Smith, but I will if you don't stay away from him. He has agreed to stay away from you, and you need to do the same."

Cate froze. "You're lying," she said before she could stop herself.

Will rolled his eyes. "You're speaking like a child," he said. "I'm not lying; I spoke to Moody earlier this afternoon and I told him the same things I'm telling you: that your relationship ends now or I go to the skipper."

"What's to stop us from running away together the moment we reach land?" Cate demanded suddenly, feeling desperate.

Will sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Catharine, when we went to Philadelphia for the first time and I turned your care over to them, I signed a legally-binding document that stated that you are to be under their legal guardianship until you turn twenty-one or you marry. If you run away with Moody, you can be sure that your grandparents will hunt him down and have him arrested faster than you can blink, certainly faster than the time it would take for you to find someone who would actually be willing and able to marry you the two of you so the contract is void."

Cate stared at him, disbelieving, and yet feeling the world crashing down around her. Seeing the tears begin to slide down her cheeks, Will's expression softened, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on the side of her face. He felt his anger melting as he looked at her, his little girl, wishing he could take back his angry words, wishing he could do everything differently so that she would never have to feel such pain. But he couldn't. He could only move forward.

"I'm so sorry, my darling," he said gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "I love you so very much. Please believe me."

When she didn't respond, Will removed his hand with a long breath and took a step back. With one last, lingering look, he smoothed out his jacket and turned to his left, toward the cabin door. He walked out quickly, leaving his daughter to stare blankly at the wall where he had just been standing, her chin quivering, tears falling freely. The door clicked behind him and then, finally, she felt a sob burst from her lips.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Hey, everyone! As usual, thanks for the continued support by reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! You may have noticed by now that the timeline of my story doesn't quite line up with that of the movie. The reason for this is because I believe James Cameron made an error in that he had the ship leave Southampton on Thursday, April 11 when, in fact, it left on Wednesday, April 10. So what I did was I stretched things out a bit and had Rose and co. eat lunch with Andrews, Ismay, and Molly the day before Rose almost jumps off the ship, rather than that same night. It doesn't change much, but I just thought I'd put that out there.**

 **In addition, I apologize if there are any formatting errors. I've gone through and re-read everything, but I've just made the switch from Word to Scrivener, so I'm still getting used to things! -PB**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _Saturday, April 13, 1912_

Everything seemed to be crashing down around her. Cate felt her breaths coming in tiny gasps, her lungs restricted by the corset. She placed a hand on her abdomen, trying to steady her breathing. With her other hand she covered her mouth to muffle her sobs, not wanting any other passengers or Lucy, the overly-attentive stewardess, to hear her. Though if no one had come running at the sound of raised voices, she was probably safe.

It was over. Her relationship with James, newly begun, was over. Cate sat down on the edge of her bed, wishing she could change into something less constricting, wishing she could throw herself onto her mattress without worrying about tearing her dress. Instead, she lay down slowly on her side, staring at the writing desk across the room. The pillow would pull pins from her hair and undo Esther's beautiful work, and the blankets would wrinkle the fragile fabric of the dress, but she hardly cared. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

 _Titanic_ was due to arrive in New York on Wednesday morning. Cate had just three-and-a-half days aboard the ship, trying not to think about James and going nowhere near the Bridge. It would take all of her willpower not to confine herself to her room for the rest of the voyage, as if she were in mourning, but she knew that Esther would insist that she go out and "enjoy herself." Like such a thing could be possible.

Cate wasn't sure how long she lay there. The light in the room changed slowly, but with a south-facing window, she didn't quite know how low the sun had sunk until, finally, the door opened and Esther bustled in. It was then that Cate realized she must have been lying there for well over an hour, and that, had things gone right, she would have been on the stern of the ship with James at that moment.

"Oh," said Esther, surprised, when she saw Cate lying on the bed. "I'm so sorry, miss, I wasn't expecting you until a little later."

Cate sat up slowly. Her hair was ruined and she was sure that there was an imprint of the pillow on her face. Her shoulder ached from lying on it for so long. She tried to smile at Esther, but she couldn't seem to make her face move.

"Whatever is the matter, Miss Cate?"

 _I've lost the man I love_ , Cate thought dimly. But she couldn't bring herself to speak. She looked at her maid, and the words of reassurance that she was quite alright, just a little tired, sprang to her lips, but she couldn't get them out.

Esther seemed to abandon any sort of code she had undertaken upon becoming a lady's maid and sat down on the bed beside Cate, something she never would have dared to do if her mistress had still been Lillian.

"Please, miss," said Esther, gently taking one of Cate's hands. "What is it?"

Cate opened her mouth to speak, but the moment some excuse came to her mind, it was pushed aside and replaced by the image of James' face smiling at her and the knowledge that she could no longer love him. She could not stop the sob from rising within her once more as she broke, looking at her maid with tears welling in her eyes.

"Oh, Esther," she whispered as the tears began to fall.

Immediately, Esther wrapped her arms around her, rubbing her back like she was a young child who had woken up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.

"There, there, miss," Esther said soothingly. "It'll be alright."

"No, it won't," Cate sobbed. "I feel as if I'll never be happy again."

It took some time, but eventually Esther coaxed the truth out of her, and Cate found herself telling her maid everything: how she had been introduced to James on the Bridge the day her father showed her around _Titanic_ ; how they had met up numerous times throughout the week in Southampton; how they had talked for hours and learned so much about one another; how they had met up on the promenade deck on Thursday and he had kissed her; how they had said "I love you" just yesterday; and now how her father had read her diary and knew everything.

"It's over," Cate said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief that Esther had given her. "Da said he wouldn't tell the captain if we stay apart for the rest of the voyage."

"Otherwise, he _will_ tell the captain?"

Cate nodded sadly. She probably looked a mess, with her hair tousled and pins coming loose, her cheeks stained by tears, her eyes red from crying. But she didn't quite care.

"Miss Cate, may I give you some advice?" Esther asked.

"Please do," Cate said with a mirthless chuckle.

"If I loved a man as much as you love Mr. James," she began slowly, "then I don't think I would give up on him. And I don't think he would give up on me, either."

"I don't _want_ to give up on him," Cate insisted, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief. "What other option is there? My grandparents practically own me, and my father owns me for the rest of the voyage to America." She shook her head bitterly. "I'll never forgive him."

"I'm sure your father is just doing what he believes is best," said Esther. "He does love you, miss. He doesn't own you, he just wants you to have the best life possible."

"The best life I could have had was with James," said Cate. "And that's all gone up in flames."

"Don't give up hope yet, Miss Cate," said Esther. "There may yet be a way for you to be with Mr. James. You just need to talk to him. Maybe the two of you can work something out where you can still be together."

"How?" Cate said with a sigh. "It's not as if I can go up to the Bridge and ask to speak with him."

Esther shrugged. "Perhaps you can get a message to him. We have three more days on board, miss. I'm sure, between the two of us, we can think of something."

But Cate couldn't hope like she could. Her anger with her father had dissipated, replaced only by overwhelming sadness. Nevertheless, she knew she had to get dressed and ready for dinner, which, she remembered dully, she had agreed to eat with a large group, including the Hockley party. Esther tried to insist that Cate didn't _have_ to go, but Cate sighed.

"This is my life now," she said dully. "It's my duty to dress up, and attend dinners, and be as charming as possible. There's no escape, so I may as well start now."

Though Esther tried to protest, Cate stood and began removing the rest of the pins from her hair, and when one got caught, Esther couldn't help but stand and assist her.

The release of the corset was immensely relieving, but Cate immediately had to be laced up into another one. She held onto the pole of her four-poster bed as Esther pulled the strings as tightly as possible so that Cate, already quite slender, could achieve the much-sought-after S-figure that all upper class women craved. The dress that Esther had chosen was perhaps the grandest dress that Cate owned; it had been ordered from Paris for her debut last September, but she hadn't yet worn it. It started off fairly simply with a beige bodice and turquoise skirt of silk, though the skirt had a fairly large, round train that trailed several inches behind her, the entire hem bordered in gilded gold embroidery. The dress then had a gilded piece of darker blue and gold that wrapped around and fastened at the ribs, tapering down the length of the skirt to the embroidered border at the bottom. When she moved, the gold and blue embroidery glittered in the glow of the lights. After pulling on long, white gloves and having her hair brushed and swept back up and held with pearl pins, as well as placing an elegant necklace of pearls and diamonds in the shape of small leaves at her throat, Esther finally declared her to be ready.

"You look like a right princess, miss," Esther said fondly, stepping back to admire her.

Cate thanked her with a faint smile and started for the door, feeling quite constricted in the beautiful dress, wondering if she would even be able to sit at the table without assistance from two or three men. She bid Esther a goodbye before closing the cabin door behind her and headed down the long, white corridor to the grand staircase.

As Cate walked down from B-Deck to D-Deck, she went over mentally who Cal had said would be present: Mr. Andrews and Mr. Ismay, Lady Rothes, the Duff Gordons... perhaps one of the first two men would be willing to escort her to dinner so she didn't look utterly ridiculous walking in alone. The reception room was quickly becoming crowded with people milling about, chatting and sipping champagne. Helen Newsom caught Cate's eye and waved merrily, standing beside a tall, athletic-looking young man. Her mother, Sarah, was scowling at him, but neither he nor Helen seemed to notice.

"Good evening, Miss Alton."

Sure enough, Thomas Andrews had approached her, a kind smile on his soft face. Cate couldn't help but smile when she saw him.

"Hello, Mr. Andrews," she said as he bent his head and kissed her hand. "How have you been? It seems an age since I last saw you."

Mr. Andrews chuckled. "Quite well, thank you. I find myself quite busy, touring the ship and making notes. What about you? I'm told you'll be joining us for dinner this evening."

"Yes, Cal was kind enough to invite me," said Cate. As she said this, she caught sight of Cal himself walking down the staircase with Ruth on his arm, shortly followed by Rose and a young man whom Cate had never seen nor met.

"Would you care for an escort?" Mr. Andrews asked, holding out his arm.

Cate smiled and took it gratefully. He led the way into the dining saloon, though they paused every once and a while to chat with various passengers. As they entered the saloon, they stopped before Captain Smith and the Countess of Rothes, whom he was escorting. Cate felt her cheeks redden at the thought of the conversation she had had earlier with her father, and what would happen if the gentle, kind captain standing before her knew what had transpired.

"Hello, Miss Alton," said Captain Smith, kissing her hand.

"Alton?" Lady Rothes repeated as they shook hands. "Are you related to Lord and Lady Cowanshire, by any chance?"

Cate smiled tightly. She had never met the Countess of Rothes, Noël Leslie, but of course she would know of Adam and Beth. It seemed as if every British peer knew every other one.

"Yes," she said, "they're my grandparents."

Lady Rothes raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh," she said. "You must be Sophie Widdick's daughter, then? I don't believe Michel ever married."

Cate almost choked on air at her words. Captain Smith and Mr. Andrews were still smiling politely, but Cate felt as if she had been hit in the gut with a cricket bat. Many times during the voyage had people made the connection to her grandparents, but no one had ever mentioned Sophie.

"Yes," Cate said quickly, realizing she had paused for far too long. "Yes, that's right. Did-did you know her?"

"Not well," said Lady Rothes. "She was a few years older than I, but we met during the London Season... I believe in 1897." Lady Rothes smiled kindly. "I was ever so sorry to hear that she had passed away the following year. She was a very sweet person."

This was a description of her mother that Cate had never before heard. Granted, people other than Beth rarely spoke of her, but from what Cate had gathered, Sophie had given Will an ultimatum of either coming to Canada to retrieve her and Lillian or she would hand them over to an orphanage. In Cate's mind, that wouldn't necessarily fall under the description of "sweet."

"Thank you," Cate said, her voice tight once more. "My twin sister and I remember her fondly."

Of course, neither Cate nor Lillian remembered their mother at all, as they had been taken from her when they were only a month-and-a-half old, and she had died not long before they had arrived in Philadelphia at the age of five. But according to what Beth and Adam had told everyone, the girls had been raised in Montréal due to their father, John Widdick's, death and their mother's frailty. However, they had maintained that Sophie had visited as often as she could until she herself had passed away from tuberculosis when she was only twenty-four years old. Then, to retain some piece of their dead daughter, Beth and Adam had brought the young girls to live with them. It was a tragic alternative to the bleak truth.

Thankfully, the conversation moved elsewhere. Cate had worried that John Widdick would be mentioned, and she didn't know what Mr. Andrews and Captain Smith knew in regards to him. Obviously, they knew Will was her father and had shown that they would not give away this secret, but would they show any confusion if Cate's other supposed "father" was brought up? Luckily, she didn't have to find out.

Captain Smith and Lady Rothes soon continued on, but Cate and Mr. Andrews ran into Rose and her guest, a handsome young man with dark blond hair. Rose looked happier than Cate had ever seen her, she noted with a bit of jealousy.

"Cate, Mr. Andrews," said Rose, smiling at them both, "may I introduce Jack Dawson?"

Of the several hundred first class passengers, this was not one whom Cate could recall even glimpsing, let alone speaking to. Rose was looking at him as if they were old friends, though Cate was sure he wasn't from Philadelphia. Perhaps she was merely unobservant and had seen him countless times without ever truly seeing him. She smiled politely as Jack kissed her hand and shook Mr. Andrews'.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson," she said. "I'm Cate Alton."

Jack smiled, though he looked rather uncomfortable. "You, too," he said. His informality surprised her, but she said nothing of it. Her eye caught Rose's, who grinned a bit, looking up at her companion fondly. It was a look Cate was sure she had given James a thousand times.

Finally, they arrived at the large, round table reserved for their party. Mr. Andrews led Cate to a seat and pulled it out for her (thankfully, her dress did not impede her from sitting as she had feared) before taking the seat to her right. On her left was Mrs. Margaret Brown, a rather loud American woman whom Cate had met a couple of times throughout the voyage but liked very much regardless. On her other side was Jack. Captain Smith, it appeared, had only been Lady Rothes' temporary escort, as he was nowhere to be seen, and the Countess herself was sitting on Mr. Dawson's left. Beside her was Mr. J. Bruce Ismay who, Mr. Andrews told her in undertone, was the owner of White Star Line. They were also joined by Colonel Archibald Gracie, Madame Léontine Aubart, Benjamin Guggenheim, Lady Lucy and Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon, and finally Ruth, Cal, and Rose, who was on Mr. Andrews' right side. While Cate felt like the odd one out, everyone else seemed to know each other, laughing heartily and telling jokes as they all settled into their seats.

As the numerous waiters walked around the oval-shaped table to serve tiny spoonfuls of caviar, the conversation lulled and Ruth's voice rang out across to Jack Dawson, a smile upon her face.

"Tell of the accommodations in Steerage, Mr. Dawson," she said. "I hear they're quite good on this ship."

All other talk around the table, even whispers, stopped suddenly, but Jack stared at Ruth unblinkingly, his face frozen into a sort of cool smirk.

"The best I've seen, ma'am. Hardly any rats."

The others laughed, rather uncomfortably, and Cal hastened to explain, "Mr. Dawson is joining us from the third class," he said. "He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night."

Cate glanced at Rose, surprised, but Rose had eyes only for Jack.

"It turns out that Mr. Dawson is quite a fine artist," she said, smiling. "He was kind enough to show me some of his work today."

"Rose and I differ somewhat in our definition of 'fine art,'" Cal said casually. But before anyone could think he meant anything unkind in his remark, he looked at Jack and said, "Not to impugn your work, sir."

Jack waved his hand dismissively, and as Mr. Ismay began speaking, Cate felt herself drift. She was no longer sure what time it was, but she was certain that James' shift had once again begun. It would continue for two hours, and then he would go to sleep, perhaps with the relief that he didn't have to be kept awake by meeting her any longer. Though Cate told herself that that wasn't true, she once again felt tears welling in her eyes, and she quickly picked the skin between her thumb and index finger, a trick taught to her and Lillian by their kind governess when they were quite young.

"Never let your grandmother see you cry," she had warned. And she had been quite right, though Cate found she could no longer remember the woman's name.

"She may be mine on paper," Mr. Ismay was saying, jerking Cate back to the present, "but in the eyes of God, she belongs to Thomas Andrews." He looked at his companion across the table. "He knows every rivet in her, don't you, Thomas?"

Rose turned to him with a kind smile on her face. "Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews, truly."

Mr. Andrews returned her smile. "Thank you, Rose."

Cate was quite inclined to agree, though she couldn't bring herself to say so aloud. She wanted to melt into the floor, to sink away into the ocean beneath them and to cease existing. Sitting there among people who had no idea what she was going through, who laughed over the stupidest of things, and told the most boring of stories, was pure torture. Perhaps it would get easier, though. Perhaps, twenty years from now, when she was married to some rich, faceless man, she would feel like she finally belonged.

"No caviar for me, thanks," Jack said when the waiter reached him. "Never did like it much."

His casual, informal way of speaking reminded her of Scotland, and she felt a pang in her chest of longing to be home.

"And where exactly do you live, Mr. Dawson?" Ruth pressed.

"Well," said Jack, "right now my address is the R.M.S. _Titanic_. After that I'm on God's good humor."

Ruth's voice grew with false interest more and more with each word. "And how is it you have means to travel?" she asked.

"I make my way from place to place," said Jack, "you know, tramp steamers and such. But I won my ticket on _Titanic_ here in a lucky hand of poker. A very lucky hand."

"All life is a game of luck!" Colonel Gracie scoffed, shaking his head.

Cal, who was sipping his champagne, quickly set the glass back down on the table. "Mmm. A real man makes his own luck," Cal countered with a smirk. "Right, Dawson?"

Now Ruth's voice grew cold. "And you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?"

Cate raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Jack took it in his stride.

"Well, yes, ma'am, I do," he said after a beat. "I mean, I've got everything I need right here with me: I've got air in my lungs and a flew blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up not knowing what's gonna happen or knowing who I'm gonna meet, where I'm gonna wind up. Just the other night, I was sleeping under bridge, now here I am on the grandest ship in the world, having champagne with you fine people." He held his glass up to the waiter, speaking with a bit of bread in his mouth, but no one seemed to care. "Yeah, I'll take some more of that. I figure life's a gift, and I don't intend on wasting it; you never know what hand you're gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you."

Suddenly, he tossed a book of matches across the table. Cal, who had been sitting with a cigarette in his mouth trying to catch a waiter's attention, caught it quickly, surprised.

"Oh, here you go, Cal," said Jack as he tossed it. But then he continued his speech fluidly. "To make each day count."

Margaret Brown nodded. "Well said, Jack."

"Here, here!" barked Colonel Gracie.

Rose smiled and lifted her glass of champagne in a toast. "To making it count," she said, her eyes never leaving Jack's face.

The others at the table, Cate included, followed suit, echoing her words and drinking as one. The conversation gradually shifted elsewhere, and Cate fell into the usual motion of what the parties entailed. When she was spoken to, she responded with the practiced laugh and charming reply, sipping her champagne elegantly, following each etiquette rule as she ate. Yet every time the talk turned elsewhere, Cate felt herself fading, wishing she was with James, wishing he was there with her, picturing the scene if James had been the invited guest to the dinner, smiling at him the way Rose smiled at Jack. Yet she knew it could never be. And as someone spoke to her again, she continued to practice, knowing this was for the rest of her life.

* * *

By the time Cate returned to her stateroom after dinner, she was exhausted. She felt like she had just run a marathon instead of having taken a meal with thirteen other passengers. Esther was waiting, as if she had known that Cate would not linger after eating, and quickly set to helping her undress, though it wasn't yet eight o'clock. Technically, dinner had not yet even finished by the time Cate left, though she had made the excuse of a headache to Mr. Andrews before quietly slipping away before dessert. Knowing James would be off duty soon, part of Cate wanted to bundle up in a coat and walk around the Boat Deck in hopes of seeing him. But she resisted the urge and, instead, changed into her nightdress.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, miss?" Esther asked as she returned from the wardrobe after hanging up the dinner gown. "Milk? Biscuits?"

"No, thank you, Esther," she said, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Perhaps I'll read for a bit, but I think I'll call it an early night. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning and... more ready to face my future."

Esther smiled sadly. "Cheer up, miss," she said. "Maybe you'll think of something so you can be with Mr. James, after all."

When she left, Cate moved to the settee and sat, curling her legs underneath her and retrieving her copy of _Dracula_ from the writing desk beside her. She opened it to the page where she had left a bookmark, but she wasn't taking in any of the words. She had read the same sentence several times when there was a sudden knock at the door, startling her. Cate set the book back down on the desk. She had locked the door after Esther had gone, but she assumed that her maid had forgotten something. Nevertheless, she pulled on a thin dressing gown over her nightdress and walked to the other side of the room, past the washroom and wardrobe, to the cabin door. When she opened it, though, she froze, for standing in front of her was not Esther, but-

" _James!_ " Cate hissed, panicking. Though he stood in a recess from the main corridor, she didn't want to risk anyone walking by and seeing them together. She grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him into the room, slamming the door behind him. She turned to look at him as he walked further into the room, partly overjoyed to see him and partly terrified that they would be found out. "What are you doing here?"

But James was looking at her as though he had never seen her before, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. Cate was suddenly aware that she was wearing only a nightdress and dressing gown, which she pulled more tightly around her body, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks burning.

"I'm sorry," said James, shaking his head quickly. "It's just... I've never seen you with your hair down before. It's beautiful."

Cate felt herself smile the first truly genuine smile she had had all day. "Thank you," she said, keeping her arms locked around her body so as to prevent the dressing gown from slipping, "really. But... why are you here?"

"Because I love you," James said quietly. "Shouldn't that be reason enough?"

Cate sighed, though her heart fluttered at his words. "Not anymore."

James took a step toward her. "Cate," he said, "I'm not going to let what your father said keep us apart. Are you afraid of your grandparents?"

"No, but that doesn't matter," Cate insisted. "They can still make our lives hell if you so much as look at me. They could have you arrested, even though you've done nothing wrong. I'm not willing to risk that."

James shook his head. "They don't scare me, my darling. What scares me is the idea of having to live without you. Your father said to let you go, but I can't. Not until you tell me that that's what you want."

"Of course, that's not what I want," said Cate. "But... you said yourself that you didn't know what would happen once _Titanic_ docks in New York, but now we do: if we remain together, all that will happen is that we'll be ripped apart. Even if my grandparents don't exact their wrath upon you, what about my father? He said he'll tell the captain if we don't stay away from one another."

"So we won't let anyone know we're together," James said softly. He stepped toward her again, placing a hand on her cheek. "I know it's only been a week, Cate, but I feel as if I've known you my whole life."

"James," Cate whispered, holding her hand atop his, "I feel the same way, but it's impossible. My father..." She shook her head bitterly. "My father signed a document that states that my grandparents are to be our legal guardians until we marry or we turn twenty-one. If I don't turn up on the pier when _Titanic_ docks, they'll have the police after me as a runaway. Besides, it's much too dramatic to hide from them."

"Well, you know what the alternative is, don't you?" said James, lowering his lips to her forehead and kissing her gently. "Marry me."

Cate felt as if her heart was preparing to explode. She looked up at him, feeling a strange combination of utter joy and painful regret. "James," she said again, feeling as if she could never say his name enough. "You... surely you don't mean—"

"Of course, I mean it," said James. He took hold of a lock of her hair, caressing it with his thumb and forefinger. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life. I love you, Cate, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it's only been a week, and perhaps we're going far too fast, but we've already established that everything about our relationship is far out of character for both of us. And I simply don't care."

"We can't," Cate whispered, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. "What minister, or reverend, or pastor would marry us? Who would marry two people who'd only known each other for a week, and even if someone _would_ be willing, we'd never find one in the time it would take my grandparents to find _me_ —"

James kissed her softly. "Then we'll wait."

"—and they would drag me kicking and screaming—what?" Cate paused, having just registered what he had said.

James chuckled slightly. "We'll wait," he repeated. "You said they were your guardians until you married _or_ you turned twenty-one, didn't you? When will that be?"

Cate thought a moment and then sighed. "The twenty-ninth of August in 1914."

James' face brightened momentarily. "Really?" he said. "My birthday is the twenty-first of August."

Cate couldn't help but smile at the excitement on his face. "Then we can celebrate together."

"Precisely!" said James. "Anyway, the point is... I am willing to wait for you, Cate Murdoch. I'll wait until the twenty-ninth of August in 1914 or any day after. If we wait, then I can continue working and save up some money to buy us a cottage... We could live in Scarborough, or Scotland, or anywhere you want. Just as long as we're together." He paused. "That is... if you _want_ to marry me. You've not said what you'd prefer either way, and of course, you don't _have_ to marry me, I just thought I'd—"

As she had once before, Cate cut off his rambling with a swift kiss. "Of course, I want to marry you," she murmured against his lips. "I've never wanted anything more in my life than that."

James beamed and threw his arms around her. "Then we'll do it!" he said as he lifted her into the air and spun her round, holding onto her waist and coming dangerously close to knocking her into the vanity behind them. "We'll marry on August the thirtieth in 1914, just as soon as you've turned twenty-one. That way we're not running from anyone, and no one can stop us!"

Cate laughed, clinging to his shoulders. "James! You're making me dizzy!"

James lowered her gently back to the floor, her body sliding down against his as he did so. They were suddenly much closer than they had been before, and Cate was all too aware of the absence of her corset and the layers upon layers of clothing that usually separated them. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her waist, over-top the flimsy silk of her nightdress and the lace of her dressing gown. Their eyes met and all that could be heard was the distant, low rumbling of the engine.

When he kissed her, it was unlike any kiss that Cate had ever experienced. His hands tightened on her waist, and he held her close as she moved her hands from his chest and up to his shoulders and then to his shoulders, her thumbs caressing his jaw. _Oh, my James_ , she thought. And she found herself smiling against his lips.

James chuckled as he broke their kiss, pulling only centimeters away so that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. "What is it?" he asked.

Cate looked up at him, beaming. She reached up took his hat by the brim, pulling it up and off and placing it on the writing desk behind him. Once again surprised by her own boldness, she moved her fingers through his chestnut-colored hair so that it no longer lay flat.

"I'm just so unbelievably happy," she said, bringing her hand back down to the side of his face. "I know we have to wait over two years, but... you're well worth the wait."

James returned her smile as he kissed her again, his right hand leaving her waist and moving up to the side of her neck. Though they had kissed, it seemed, countless times before, there was something about this kiss that felt markedly different from the others. She found she couldn't get enough of him, couldn't quite get close enough. As his lips left hers and he trailed kisses down her jaw and to her neck, she sighed, feeling her head stretch back, her fingers tightening in their hold on his shoulder. When his lips found hers again, she was suddenly aware of the bed bumping against her legs; she hadn't even realized that they had moved at all, his body pressing into hers, her tongue caressing his, his hand in her hair.

Soon his jacket had been tossed to the settee and Cate had loosened his tie. It was only as her dressing gown slid to the floor that her brain finally caught up with her body. Perhaps this was wrong, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop, and she certainly didn't want to. As if he had read her mind, though, his tie loosened so that she could pull it over his head, the top buttons of his shirt undone, James pulled away. His cheeks her flushed and his breath came a little heavier, just as hers did.

"Cate, my darling," he said softly, glancing down briefly at the discarded dressing gown and the remaining lace nightdress. "We don't have to do this, you know... You know I'll wait for you however long it takes."

Cate smiled. Her heart was pounding, her cheeks were fiery hot, and she felt like part of her was screaming to feel his hands on her skin. She couldn't believe how she felt: practically the opposite of her normally timid, withdrawn self. "I know," she whispered. "But I want to."

Everything seemed to melt away except for the two of them. He kissed her again and she continued to undo the buttons of his shirt, giggling sheepishly when she fumbled. He smiled and shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. When his undershirt had been removed, Cate couldn't stop herself from running her hands along his chest, feeling thrills of excitement shooting through her body. Slowly, the barriers separating them disappeared. When her nightdress was brought up and over her head, his light blue eyes raked her body until they found her face, her cheeks burning, her shyness returned.

James closed the gap between them and bent his head to kiss her, threading the fingers of one hand through her hair and holding her bare waist with the other. "You are utterly breathtaking, my love," he whispered against her lips.

Cate let her fears dissolve and gave herself to him. As she lay upon the bed, the sheets soft beneath her, her honey-colored hair fanning the pillow underneath her head, he rained kisses along the length of her body. Their fingers laced together and she felt them become one, as if their souls had merged and were now floating somewhere among the stars, high above _Titanic._ She knew they would be separated for the rest of the voyage and, indeed, for the next two years, but Cate had never been so happy as she was in that moment. Throughout her life, she had had decisions being made for her. Now, for the first time, she was able to choose for herself what she wanted her life to be.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _Saturday, April 13, 1912_

He was beautiful when he slept. Cate lay on her side watching him, the corners of her mouth turned upwards as he lay before her, oblivious to her gaze. She had been lying with her back against his chest and their talking had faded to a comfortable silence when, after a few moments, she felt his arm around her waist slacken and heard his breathing grow deep and even. As slowly as possible, so as not to disturb him, Cate had turned over to look at him, finding his eyes closed and strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead. While Cate felt quite awake and energized, she knew how exhausted James must be, going on such little sleep over the past few days. She scooted closer to him, burrowing in the hollow of his chest, and he automatically tightened his hold around her, moaning softly.

"Mm," he murmured, opening his eyes slowly and lowering his head to bury his face in her hair, "hello there."

"I didn't mean to wake you," Cate said, starting to pull away automatically so he could get more sleep.

"No, it's fine," said James, holding her more tightly and pulling her back. "I want to be awake with you. I don't have much time left." He glanced on the clock on her writing desk across the room.

Cate sighed and snuggled closer to him. "I wish you could stay forever," she lamented.

James smiled and kissed the top of her head. "In two years and..." he paused, "...about four months, I'll be able to. Until then... I suppose we must be satisfied with what time we're given."

"Two years seems like such a long time."

"Not as long as the time we'll have together afterward," James reminded her. "Forever and ever, in some cottage by the ocean, or on a Scottish hillside, or perhaps in a townhouse in London. I don't care, as long as I'm with you."

The image of the two of them spending the rest of their lives together filled Cate with joy, the likes of which she had never before experienced. She tipped her head back to look at him and pressed her lips to his. "I love you," she whispered.

James grinned. "Do you? That's convenient."

Cate smirked and rolled her eyes. "Isn't it?" she said.

"Quite." James kissed her again, this time longer. His hand left her waist and found the side of her neck, once again tangling his fingers in her long hair. His touch on her sensitive skin sent goosebumps erupting all along her arms, and she shivered, sliding her arm around his waist and pulling him closer. Their kisses began to grow more impassioned, and Cate felt desire stirring within her once more as his lips found her ear, the place he had rapidly learned was enough to make her gasp sharply and arch her body into his.

This time was quicker than the first, largely due to midnight looming over their heads, though, Cate felt, no less romantic. When he groaned her name and gently collapsed his body atop hers, his back beaded with sweat and his breathing heavy, Cate wrapped her arms around him and brushed her lips against his shoulder. Slowly, he rolled onto the bed beside her, trying to catch his breath, and she snuggled underneath his arm and rested her head on his chest.

This was Heaven, Cate was sure of it. The bed beneath them was as soft as clouds, and his fingers running absently through her long waves of hair was pure bliss. Her hand was before her face, making small circles on his skin with the tip of her finger. She sighed contentedly, reveling in the warmth of his body and the strong beating of his heart beneath her ear.

"I could stay like this forever," she said softly, several moments later after their labored breaths had quieted.

James smiled. "So could I," he said, kissing the top of her head. He glanced again at the ornate clock. "Unfortunately, though, I have to leave very soon."

Cate groaned and brought herself up to rest on her elbow so that she hovered over him. Her hair slipped from behind her shoulder and fell down beside her face, tickling his chest. "Must you?" she said as he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm sure no one will notice if you don't show up."

James laughed. "They might," he said. "Your father certainly would, as he's on duty until two."

Suddenly, Cate scowled. "Don't speak to me of him," she said. She sat up completely and swung her legs over the side of the bed. James was quick to follow, sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't be too angry with him," he urged, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "He loves you and wants the best life for you." He kissed her shoulder again, closer to her neck. "He'll come round eventually. You can tell him once he's in America for your sister's wedding, and then he'll have two years to come to terms with it."

Cate sighed and leaned back so she rested against his chest, her head lolling back onto his shoulder. "I wish we didn't have to wait so long," she said quietly. "But I know we must. It would be easier if this didn't have to be the last time we saw each other. But of course, my father had to ruin that, too."

To her surprised, James chuckled. "Well, not quite as much as he had hoped, I'm afraid."

Cate turned her head to look at him. "What on earth do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Even though he promised to tell the skipper if I saw you again," said James, now trailing kisses from her shoulder, up her neck, and to her ear, "I still went to the stern to meet you at four. He told me to let you go, and I agreed, but I never intended to comply. Not for a moment."

His kisses on her ear were extremely tantalizing, and Cate was finding it a bit difficult to focus on what he was saying. "You went to the stern?" she breathed. "Even after his threat?"

"Of course, I did," said James. She shifted her torso that she could see him better. "I do love you terribly, my darling. I'll not let anything come between us." He placed a hand on the side of her face. "No matter what separates us," he said, leaning forward to kiss her, "no matter how long or how far apart we are, I'll always carry you with me." He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers for a moment.

"Me, too," Cate whispered. "Always."

* * *

 _Sunday, April 14, 1912_

The day dawned bright and cold the next morning. Cate had fallen asleep not long after James had left, just before midnight, promising to try and see her one last time before the ship docked on Wednesday morning, probably Tuesday evening before he went on duty. Until then, they would remain apart so as not to arouse Will's suspicions of their relationship any further. Though the bed felt terribly empty without James beside her, Cate found herself smiling as she awoke and stretched, feeling light and cheerful, much more so than she had been since she had received that letter from her grandmother.

Before he had left, James had kissed her forehead softly and taken her in his arms, saying quietly, "Don't be mad at him forever. Talk to him."

After he had gone, Cate had lain back down on the bed, telling herself that there was nothing that could make her talk to her father again. Lillian would wonder why Cate was avoiding him at the wedding—the image of him standing alone at Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, the brownstone church where the wedding was to take place, ignored by the folk of rich society and even his own daughters, had almost broken her—but Cate told herself she would not give in.

But when Cate woke hours later with sunlight streaming in through the window and the image of James' arms around her as they lay together under the covers, finally together, Cate felt her resolve crumbling. Despite everything that had happened, she could not deny that she still loved her father very much. He had always been her favorite person in the world. She was still furious that he had read her diary, but knowing that, despite his meddling, she would still be with James eventually, she found herself wanting to forgive him.

"Will you be having breakfast this morning, miss?" Esther asked later as she bustled around, getting ready to draw a bath in the washroom.

"No," said Cate, slowly running a brush through her hair as she sat at the edge of her bed. "But I think I'll take a walk before the church service at eight."

The dress they had chosen for the morning was simpler than the dress the night before, with a square neckline and silken layers of pale green in the center and burnt orange with small, flowery embroidery down the sides, as well as sheer, lacy half-sleeves. Once she was squeezed tightly into into the dress and her hair was swirled up and pinned, Esther placed a wide-brimmed hat with a pale green sash, as well as a number of green, orange, and white flowers. As Cate smoothed out any linger wrinkles in the fabric, Esther returned from the wardrobe with a white shawl.

"It's rather colder today than it has been," she explained, draping it over Cate's shoulders. She studied her mistress, smiling. "You look lovely, Miss Cate. And in much better spirits, I must say."

Cate returned her smile as she pulled the shawl more tightly around her. "I certainly _feel_ in better spirits," she replied. "I think I'll go see my father today."

Esther beamed. "Oh, that's wonderful, miss. I'm glad you've decided to patch things up with him."

As Cate strolled along the promenade deck, lingering where James had first kissed her, she breathed in the cool morning air, feeling like a completely different person than the one she had been just yesterday. It would not be an easy two years without James, that much was certain, but she knew she could make it. She would fight any plans her grandparents tried to make about marriage, and she would remain true to the man she loved. Then, after her twenty-first birthday, they would steal away together. And no one would be able to stop them.

First class passengers streamed into the dining saloon at eight o'clock that morning, the tables having been pushed to the sides and replaced by rows and rows of chairs. Cate could not keep herself from attending the church service, despite the hypocrisy of what had taken place the night before. She knew that, in the eyes of a religious person, she had done something horribly sinful, but Cate had been surrounded by religion for nearly her entire life, whether it was attending Catholic mass with her grandmother whilst in New York, attending her boarding school's mandatory Anglican services in Oxford, or being baptized into the Church of Scotland when she and Lillian were brought over from Canada. Though she certainly didn't consider herself to be a terribly religious person, she felt the need to attend the service, anyway. (That, and if Beth got word that Cate had been seen milling about outside of a church service, rather than attending, she would be furious, lest anyone should think her granddaughter was a heathen.)

Cate found a place in the second row between Lady Rothes and Cal Hockley, who was looking fairly agitated, but smiled his handsome smile and greeted her cordially nonetheless. It was Captain Smith who presided and, as per usual, Cate felt fear churning within her at the sight of him, as if he would be able to read her mind the moment he laid eyes on her and know what one of his officers had done. Cate no longer feared her father's wrath, but she did not want James to lose his position because of what they had done, no matter how many times he had insisted that she was worth the risk. But when their eyes did meet for the briefest of moments, Captain Smith smiled warmly at her, and she relaxed.

A sort of warm peace descended over her as the service went on, though she didn't pay much attention to the Bible verses that Captain Smith read, nor the lyrics of the hymns they sang. She imagined standing before an altar with James across from her, their hands joined, beaming at one another as they vowed to devote their lives to each other's health and happiness. She truly could not wait for that moment to arrive.

When the service ended and people began to file out, Cate shook herself back into the present. Lady Rothes turned to her, smiling.

"I must say, Catharine, you have a lovely voice," she said kindly.

"You do, indeed, Cate," added Cal, who had turned to join them, looking rather less disgruntled than he had earlier. "I had no idea."

"Thank you," said Cate, fairly embarrassed. "I didn't know you had such a talent for singing, too, Cal."

Lady Rothes nodded and Cal smirked. "Well, I'm full of surprises, aren't I?" he chuckled.

Cate continued in a fit of joviality, "Really, who would have thought that the great Mr. Hockley was a closet singer? Perhaps you could perform for us tonight at dinner!"

Cal laughed, as did the number of people surrounding them. In fact, the only person who didn't react was Rose, who stared blankly ahead of her, apparently taking nothing in around her. "Only if you promise me a duet, Cate," he said, kissing her hand.

As the rest of the first class passengers began to continue out of the saloon, Cate turned toward the front and caught Captain Smith's eye again. He smiled and strode toward her.

"Good to see you again, Miss Alton," he said. "I hope you enjoyed the service."

"Quite," said Cate. "It was beautiful, Captain. Thank you very much."

Captain Smith glanced around for a moment and, after ensuring that no one around them was within earshot, said, "I was speaking to your father just the other day about you. He thinks the world of you, you know."

Cate's smile faltered a bit. "I think the world of him, too," she said quietly. "In fact... I was wondering if I might be allowed to go up to the Bridge to see him later. When he's not working, of course," she added quickly.

"Of course!" said the Captain. "I told Will that he should bring you up some time when we're not too busy." He pulled out a pocket watch from his coat pocket and examined it for a moment. "As a matter of fact, he doesn't go on duty for about another hour. Would you like to accompany up to the Bridge now to see him?"

A bit taken aback, Cate nonetheless accepted his offer. She had expected to have more time to gather her thoughts as to what she would say to Will, but she took Captain Smith's arm and followed him from the saloon, keeping up their pleasant conversation while trying desperately to think about how to talk to her father without letting him know what had taken place the night before.

* * *

Cate's heart pounded as she and Captain Smith approached the Bridge. They had walked past the starboard lifeboats on the Boat Deck, going through the gate that barred passengers from going any further, and continued toward the Navigating Bridge. Would James be there? She couldn't remember when he would be on duty. Part of her hoped he would not be there, for she wasn't sure she could contain her joy if she saw him. Sure enough, as they rounded the corner into the Navigating Bridge, Cate caught sight of him talking to three officers she did not know.

"Hello, gentlemen," said Captain Smith as they approached. All of the officers snapped to attention, and Cate fought hard not to laugh at the look of utter shock on James' face when he saw her. "As you can see, we've got a visitor, so look lively."

As they stood before the four officers, it took all of Cate's willpower not to simply stare at James, though she could feel his gaze upon her.

"This is Miss Catharine Alton," said Captain Smith. "I don't recall whether any of you have met her."

"I have, sir," James volunteered, a cheerful smile on his face. Cate was certain her face was bright red as she forced herself to smile politely at him.

"Ah, yes," said Captain Smith with a nod. "Well, lads, Miss Alton is one of the daughters that Will keeps telling us so much about."

The other officers nodded in understanding, two of them smiling kindly. When their eyes met, James winked at her.

"Miss Alton," Captain Smith continued, "may I present Chief Officer Henry Wilde—"

The man who had replaced her father was tall with a scowl on his face. Cate thought he looked rather unpleasant, but perhaps that was because he had stolen Will's job. He nodded shortly.

"—Second Officer Charles Lightoller—"

This man smiled and shook her hand, saying in his deep voice, "How do you do, Miss Alton?" Instantly, Cate liked him.

"—and Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall."

Mr. Boxhall also greeted her kindly.

"Is Will about?" Captain Smith asked, looking around briefly. "Miss Alton would like to see him before he goes on duty."

"He's in his stateroom, sir," said Mr. Lightoller. "Shall I fetch him?"

"Actually, I need to speak to you for a moment," said Captain Smith. "Mr. Moody, since you and Miss Alton are old friends, would you show her to Will's cabin, please?"

"Of course, sir," James replied immediately. "If you'd please follow me, Miss Alton?"

"Thank you again, Captain Smith," Cate said, turning to her escort.

He smiled. "It was a pleasure to see you again."

Cate followed James back past the Captain and the other three officers and through an open door into the Wheel House where a quartermaster stood at the wheel. He glanced at them silently before looking forward once more. James led the way through the wheel house and around a corner to the left. There was a door with a tiny placard above it with the words "Chief Officer" embossed, and directly before them was a short corridor and a closed door. The very second they had rounded the corner and were out of view of the quartermaster, James took Cate into his arms and kissed her.

In spite of her surprise, Cate kissed him back eagerly, smiling against his lips as he pressed her up against the wall. It took everything within her not to audibly moan at the feel of his tongue massaging hers, his hands holding her waist tightly. Finally, though, and yet all too soon, James pulled away, grinning at the redness in her cheeks and the shock on her face.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing her once more, briefly, before stepping back. "His room is through that door ahead and immediately on the right. I won't go with you."

James disappeared, hurrying off back where they had come. And so, trying to catch her breath and regain her senses, Cate continued along down the short corridor, pulling the door open and walking through it. Sure enough, immediately to the right was another door, this time labeled "First Officer." She could hear the sounds of her father moving about within, so at least she wouldn't be waking him. Her heart was pounding again and her mouth had gone dry. But, nevertheless, she forced herself to raise her fist and knock thrice on the door.

It was opened a second later by Will, who looked immensely surprised to see her.

"Catey," he said, clearly stunned. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

It was the least formal that Cate had seen him in a long time. He wore no shoes and had not yet donned his officer's coat, and instead wore dark trousers and his white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone. His hat was off and his blond hair with its peppery streaks was still somewhat tousled.

"I'm fine," Cate replied. "I... wanted to speak with you. May I come in?"

"Of course," Will said quickly. He opened the door wider so that she could enter.

The room was not quite as long as hers, but it was still good-sized. A mahogany bedstead with a set of drawers underneath was to the immediate right, with another bureau directly across from the door, a folding wash basin between them. In the far right corner was a small, mahogany desk, and a narrow wardrobe in the corner opposite, at the head of the bed. A rectangular window overlooked the port side officers' promenade. In all, it was a cozy room, one Will probably didn't spend much time in, but had made his own nonetheless.

Will quickly picked up a discarded shirt from the desk chair so she could sit down, and he sat down across from her on the bed. The expression on his face seemed to flit between concern and guilt.

"What is it, lass? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," Cate insisted. She took a breath. She still wasn't certain what all she wanted to say, nor how to say any of it. But when she didn't speak immediately, Will seemed eager to fill the silence.

"How have you been?" he asked uncomfortably. "Since... yesterday?"

Cate arched an eyebrow, looking at him sardonically. "About how you would expect, I imagine," she said coolly. _No, no, no!_ Cate thought furiously. This was not how she had wanted this to go! She opened her mouth to continue, but Will cut across her.

"I'm sorry."

Silence hung in the air. It was the first time he had apologized for what he had done. He had, of course, said he was sorry because of the way she felt, but he had never apologized for reading her diary. And Cate had not expected him to. She had come with no intention of forgiving him, and now she wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm sorry," Will said again, shaking his head. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs and his fingers laced together before him. "I'm sorry for what I did, Catey. I had no right to enter your room and read your diary. It was uncalled for, and even though I'm your father, it was a violation of your privacy. And I'm sorry."

Cate let out a long breath. "Thank you for saying so," she said slowly.

When she didn't continue, Will sighed and lowered his eyes. "But you don't forgive me," he said.

Cate was surprised that she felt no guilt at the forlorn expression on her father's face. "Should I?" she asked. "There's one way I can forgive you, Da, and I'm quite sure you won't take it."

Will did not reply.

"To be perfectly honest," said Cate, rising to her feet. As she did so, her father straightened up in his chair. "I'm still extremely angry about what you did, and I believe I have a right to be."

"Of course, you do," said Will, "but—"

But Cate cut across him to continue. "I didn't _have_ to come here," she said. "I wasn't coerced into doing so. I came because I love you, Da, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life, or even the rest of the voyage to New York, fighting with you."

"Neither do I."

"But," Cate continued, struggling to keep her voice from wavering, "I am _furious_ with you. And I have been for quite some time." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I was only five years old when you left us in Philadelphia. You didn't even tell us _why_ you were taking us there, and then all of a sudden, I was watching you walk out of their mansion. I didn't see you for _seven months_ , and even then, it was only weeks until we had to go back. Do you remember the first night we returned to Scotland? Do you remember what I told you as you tucked me into bed?"

"Catey—"

" _Do you_?"

Will sighed. "Not really, I confess. It's been thirteen years, lass."

"You tucked the blanket under my chin," said Cate, "and I whispered to you that I hated them. I told you that I had missed you terribly, and that I didn't want to live with them anymore. But you didn't listen to me." _The cash in your pocket was probably so heavy that that was all you could think about_. Cate thought the harsh words but she resisted the urge to say them, for she knew they would achieve nothing but another argument. Yet she had held the words bottled up inside her for so long that she could not help but keep talking.

"You have not spent a single birthday with us since we turned five," she said. "And even when we _were_ back home in Scotland for the summer or for Christmas, you weren't always there. I can actually count how many times you have been with us since May of 1899. A person shouldn't be able to say that about their father, but I can say it about mine."

Cate's past washed over her as she looked at her father, who gazed up at her from where he sat at the desk. She and Lillian had spent about five years living in Philadelphia—with the exception of summers and Christmases—before starting at Collingwood Academy for Young Ladies, a very prestigious institution to which many upper class families, including the nobility of Britain, sent their daughters. Then, after leaving school for the year at the beginning of May, they would sail back to Philadelphia for two months so Beth and Adam could "check up on them" and ensure that they were progressing adequately. Cate had finished her final year at school in early 1911 and, after a short summer in Dalbeattie (Lillian had elected to remain in Philadelphia), she had returned to America to make her debut in society before going back to Scotland at Christmastime. The original agreement with her grandparents had been that she could stay until June, when it would be time to return for Lillian's wedding, but, of course, they had decided that a passage aboard _Titanic_ 's maiden voyage to was more important than time with her paternal family.

"All my life," Cate had continued, "since I was five years old, I have been looked at as a prize to be won or a doll to be set up on a shelf. I have been scolded for slouching, for sounding too Scottish, for bumping elbows with Lillian at dinner because I am left-handed, for not being happy with the idea that I am to one day marry someone whom I neither love nor even know."

A lump had risen in her throat and her chin began to tremble. "And now," she said, "I am scolded for falling in love.

"I love him, Father," she whispered. "I love him so much I feel I should burst. And he loves me. He loves me more completely and fully than any other man on this earth ever could. And you want to tear us apart because we might struggle for want of money. But I promise you: no force in this world will ever make me stop loving him. Even if my grandparents lock me in my room and chain me to an altar to marry Edward Black, I will love James more and more with each breath I take. We may not be able to be together now, but I swear, one day we will. There will come a day when I am out of my grandparents' control, and we will marry, and I will _finally_ be as happy as you have always said you wanted me to be."

Will looked up at his daughter, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. He could not tower over her, his officer's uniform making him look smart and intimidating. Now, as his daughter poured out her heart to him, and he sat in nothing but a shirt and trousers, shoes tossed to the side, he finally realized the depth of her misery. It had been so easy to brush aside her earlier arguments, insisting to himself that once she married and saw how good her life could be, that she would be happy. But then she had met Moody, and he had, apparently, shown her just the opposite. And still Catey had tried to tell him, and he had not listened.

He thought back to thirteen years ago, back when he had first received a letter from Beth Alton saying that her daughter, Sophie, had succumbed to tuberculosis at the age of twenty-four without having remarried or produced another heir. Therefore, the Altons wanted her illegitimate daughters (Cate's name had been misspelled as "Catherine" in the letter) to become their heiresses. They had offered an extremely hefty stipend each month to help care for the girls, and with them living in Philadelphia most of the time, Will had been enticed by the possibility of returning to the sea. Jane, his mother, had begged him to reconsider, saying that all his daughters needed was their father's presence and love, not twenty-five pounds a month and etiquette lessons from strangers. But Will had insisted over and over again that Lillian and Catharine would be able to have much better lives as upper class heiresses. They would never have to know the exhaustion of working every day as a teacher or a seamstress—they could marry a man and live comfortably at home.

"Tell me that the _only_ reason you are giving your daughters over to that hateful woman," Jane had said, "is because you care for their welfare and not because you miss your work."

Will had told himself over and over for the past thirteen years that he had not lied to his mother that day. With the stipend of twenty-five pounds a month, he had purchased a beautiful cottage near to where his parents and siblings lived. He had hired a woman, Mrs. Murray, to cook and keep the place tidy. They had been able to leave Samuel's and Jane's home for one of their own, and the girls had been positively thrilled until the time came to sail to Philadelphia a month later. With the stipend, Will had no need to work at all. A small voice in his head had told him he could move to America if he wanted to be nearer his girls, but he had shoved the thought to the side. There was no reason, he told himself, that he couldn't continue to work on the sea now that the girls were being taken care of. And he would make every effort to be home when they were, though he soon learned that this was not always possible.

Then, when Catharine had begun expressing unhappiness with the Altons and her life with them, he had ignored it, insisting to both her and himself that it was for the best and that, one day, she would thank him. But now, finally, he realized that this thanks would never come, and that he had been terribly, terribly wrong.

"Oh, my Catey," Will whispered. His gaze finally left the floor of his cabin and found her face. Sorrow seemed to fill him like vines creeping their tendrils round his heart. He let out a long breath and stood, taking her hand in his and placing his other on her cheek. "You're right. You're absolutely right."

Cate stared at him in disbelief; it seemed too good to be true that now, finally, he was actually hearing what she was saying.

"I'm so sorry that I've not listened to you," said Will, his hand tightening around hers. "I'm so sorry that I've brushed you aside all these years. I've... I've been incredibly selfish, I admit. My life was turned upside down when I learned that I was to be a father, and I felt I had no way out of working as a laborer and living with my parents because the only job in which I had training would take me away from you girls. And then, when the Altons wrote and offered you girls a new life, I felt I couldn't say 'no,' not when it meant such good opportunities for the both of you and... and, I confess, when it meant I could return to my work as an officer.

"But please," Will continued earnestly, "never, _never_ believe that I have not loved you and your sister. You and Lillian are my whole world—I think of little else other than the two of you. When I say that I have always wanted your happiness, that is true... I just... I haven't realized that I was going the wrong way about making sure you were happy." He sighed. "I contented myself with knowing that Lillian was thriving, and I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't be long until you felt the same way, even if you didn't know it yet. But of course, I was wrong."

"Oh, Da," Cate breathed. "Of course, I know that you love us. I've never doubted it."

She could feel hope swelling within her. For years, she had wanted her father to admit this, and now he finally had!

"But..." she said slowly, trying to speak carefully, "does this mean you'll... reconsider about—"

"Catey," Will sighed heavily. "It's not that simple. I believe you and Moody love one another, but it's just not that easy. Where would you live? How could he support the both of you unless you get a job, something you've never done? What will _his_ parents think when he brings home a young lady he's met on _Titanic_? And let's not forget your grandparents—they're still your legal guardians until you turn twenty-one, and no minister would be willing to marry you. Everything I said before still stands. Nothing has changed because I've apologized. I'm afraid you've not thought this through, lass."

"I'm sure you'd like to think that," Cate said stubbornly, taking a step backward. "But the fact is, we _have_ thought it through. We made plans—proper plans. We've agreed to stay apart during the voyage, of course, and I'll do as I'm told and return to Philadelphia. I'll parade myself around there, and he'll continue to work and save up money. Then, once I've turned twenty-one, we'll marry and buy a cottage together. So, yes, we _have_ thought this through, Da. We know it's going to take some time, but we're willing to wait."

Will's brow furrowed, and for a moment Cate thought it was because she had proven him wrong.

"And when did you make these plans?" he asked.

Cate swallowed, but thought quickly. "Friday, of course" she said. "The afternoon before you read my diary. I haven't seen him since then." Her cheeks reddened at her lie, but she forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, knowing she was a terrible liar.

Will set his jaw as he looked at her, one of the telltale signs of his impending anger. "Really," he said, his voice cold. "You must be psychic then, lass, because I didn't tell you about the document I signed until yesterday."

Cate felt her blood turn to ice, and her heart began pounding. "Then—" she sputtered, feeling as if she were suddenly drowning, "you—you must have—told me before—"

"I didn't," Will growled. "I hadn't told _anyone_ before then. Your sister doesn't even know. Which means—" he exhaled sharply, "you must have seen Moody _after_ I forbade the both of you from interacting."

"Father—"

"Enough!" Will said sharply. "I hope you don't think what I said before still stands. I'm going straight to the captain, Catharine. I've had enough of you sneaking around behind my back with one of my colleagues. Well, we'll see what comes of it, won't we?"

He turned from her and began buttoning the top two buttons of shirt, but Cate grabbed his arm and forced him to face her once more.

"Father, please," she begged, now panicking. "Nothing happened between us yesterday. We just wanted to say goodbye, that's all! Surely, you owe us that much! Please don't ruin his career because we wanted to see each other one last time!"

Will let out a long breath. He looked down at her, anger still evident on his face, though it had softened a bit.

"Go on, lass," he said, nodding at the door. "I need to get ready for my shift."

But Cate didn't move. "Please don't tell the captain," she whispered. " _Please_ , Da, don't ruin his career."

"We'll talk about this later," said Will. "I need time to think."

So Cate did as she was told, casting one last glance at her father before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Her heart was pounding and she felt positively sick with guilt. She had come to see her father with the expectation of mending things and, for a while, it had seemed like she had. But now she had ruined everything because she had not paused to think before speaking. As she continued back to the Bridge, she twisted her hands together, wondering what she should or even could do.

Upon her arrival, James smiled when he caught sight of her. But Cate could only send him a weak smile in response, so unenthusiastic that his grin faltered, his expression immediately replaced with concern. She looked away quickly, nodding at Mr. Boxhall before continuing out of the Navigating Bridge and hurrying down the Boat Deck.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _Sunday, April 14, 1912_

"Miss Alton! Cate!"

Cate whirled around, the cold wind whipping loose strands of hair about her face. For half a second, she had expected to see James following her, but it was Harold Lowe. Not having seen him on the Bridge, it was as if he had appeared out of thin air. She had almost reached the gate separating the officers' promenade on starboard when he had called out to her, and she stayed, glancing around nervously.

"I'm sorry for my informality," said Mr. Lowe in his beautiful, Welsh lilt. He had a kind face that seemed to be filled with a sort of boyish mischievousness, a twinkle alight in his dark eyes. "I hear Jim and Will talk about you so often that sometimes it feels as if I know you, as well."

"You're on a first name basis with my father, too, then?" Cate asked, feeling rather irritated at being stopped. What if someone—such as Captain Smith or Will himself—emerged and accused _them_ of being improper, too?

Mr. Lowe shrugged. "All us officers are," he said. "There's more formality when the skipper's around, of course, or if passengers are about."

Cate glanced around impatiently again. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lowe?"

"Actually, I'm here because Jim sent me," he replied. "I came out was in the corridor when you left your father's cabin, though I suppose you didn't see me—"

"I didn't."

"—but you were in such a hurry that you were gone by the time I got to the Bridge. Jim asked me to go after you to find out what was wrong."

"That's none of your concern, Mr. Lowe." Cate turned on her heel to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" he hissed, releasing her as her eyes flashed and she jerked away from him. "I'm only here because Jim is concerned about you. You don't have to give me all the bloody details—just enough so the poor chap knows you're not upset with him."

Cate was surprised by his vulgarity and familiarity, but she did her best not to let it show.

"I'm not upset with him," she said coolly. But then she sighed heavily, feeling her anger and irritation melt away. "Just... tell him I've made a mess of things. Again." She looked out at the ocean for a moment, biting her lip. "I just... I don't know what to do, Mr. Lowe. I fear that I've ruined everything."

"You mean..." Mr. Lowe lowered his voice, "...you mean your relationship with Jim?"

"Yes," Cate said softly, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "My father's very angry."

"I thought you were going to stay apart for the rest of the voyage."

Cate raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Mr. Lowe cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Jim is a pretty honest chap," he said with a sheepish grin. He paused. "He loves you very much, you know."

In spite of everything, Cate found herself smiling, just a bit. "I know," she said. "I love him, too. Tell him that... and tell him I'm sorry for..." She felt her chin quivering as a hard lump formed in her throat. "For..."

"For what?" Mr. Lowe pressed when she couldn't seem to continue.

Cate took a breath. "My father is going to tell the captain," she whispered fearfully. "I don't know what to do, Mr. Lowe. I can't convince him otherwise, and James can't speak to him about it, lest Da should think that we've seen each other _again_ , even after everything—"

"Leave it to me, Miss Alton." Mr. Lowe smiled that brilliant smile of his and, before she could reply, touched the brim of his hat with a brief inclination of his head, and turned on his heel before striding back to the Bridge. Cate was left to stare after him, feeling not at all reassured and, if it were possible, more anxious than ever.

* * *

Though Will spoke with Captain Smith several times that afternoon, he found he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words that would, his daughter had said, ruin James Moody's career. The two men had scarcely looked at one another for the final two hours of Moody's shift when Will had come on duty and, at noon, when Moody retired, Will found himself rather relieved.

When Chief Officer Henry Wilde came at two to relieve him, Will glanced at the other side of the Navigating Bridge where Captain Smith was speaking to Third Officer Herbert Pitman, who had come on duty two hours previously with Harold Lowe. This was his chance, he realized: he could ask to speak to the skipper privately and he could reveal the secret that three people on board that ship had been keeping from him: that one of his officers had been breaking regulations for the entire duration of the voyage by courting a passenger. But before he could even take a step in that direction, he found his path blocked by Lowe.

Harold Lowe was fairly young still and the second most junior officer aboard _Titanic_. Truthfully, not many of the other officers liked him—he was jolly enough, but he was a bit rougher round the edges than the older officers really liked, laughing loudly, making jokes, and giving truth to the idea of one "swearing like a sailor." He got along well enough with the others, though he was really only close with Moody, who was close in age and seemed to develop the same mischievous joviality when they were together, though he was still a good deal more reserved than Lowe. Nevertheless, when Lowe stopped in front of him, Will did manage to resist the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance.

"I wonder if I might have a word," he said, his hands clasped behind his back.

Will was able to suppress a sigh. "Yes, alright," he said, nodding at the open door to the chart room through the window of the Wheelhouse.

Most surprisingly, Will found that he enjoyed the shifts he spent with Moody and Boxhall more so than with Pitman and Lowe. Lowe certainly kept them all laughing, and did indeed know the proper moment of being serious and when it was alright to loosen up, but while his presence in the dead hours of the night was often wearing, Will found the evenings spent in Moody's company to be more enjoyable. He told them of dreadful tales aboard the _Boadicea_ and of pranking his older brothers and sister when he was young. At the same time, though, he was immensely respectful and did his job extremely well. Lowe was a hard worker, but he seemed to be apt to cross more lines than Moody. (Well, _some_ lines Moody apparently saw fit to cross with no qualms at all.)

"I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries," Lowe said as Will closed the door to the chart room, filled suddenly with a sense of foreboding.

"Of course, you can speak to me privately if you wish," said Will, a bit perplexed.

"No, not about that," Lowe said quickly. "That is... your daughter is very unhappy."

He said it so bluntly and nonchalantly that, for a moment, Will simply stared at him, his eyebrows raised.

" _Now_ you're overstepping them," Will said at last, his tone sharp. "What do you know of my daughter?"

"I know she left here in a hurry this morning, looking quite upset," said Lowe, apparently not a bit remorseful for his boldness. "Jim bade me go after her, and so I did. She seemed to think she'd 'ruined everything,' to use her phrasing."

"This is none of your concern, Mr. Lowe," Will snapped. "I'll ignore your impertinence if you get back to work and say no more on the subject."

"I'm sure you're aware that there's no use in trying to separate them forever?" said Lowe as Will turned toward the door. The latter turned slowly back to look at him, anger visible on his face.

"You are several steps over the line, Mr. Lowe," said Will, splotches of color now filling his cheeks.

But Lowe continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Even if you tell Captain Smith, which, of course, you're perfectly within your rights to do. They'll remain apart for the voyage and Jim's career will be over before it's even truly started. I'm sure you're aware that he didn't even _want_ to be here at first? Yes, he had submitted a request to take a leave of absence and had hoped to remain on _Oceanic_ for the summer, but both requests were denied. Now, here he finds himself aboard _Titanic_ and in love with the first officer's daughter, a breath away from everything going up in flame. How's that for a dose of cruel irony?"

"And why should that matter to me?" Will demanded. He didn't know why he felt rooted to the spot to argue with Lowe, yet here he was.

"All I'm saying," Lowe said lightly, "is that sometimes life takes a turn that we don't expect."

Will snorted derisively despite his annoyance. "I know that more than most," he said. "Now—"

"If you _do_ decide to speak to Captain Smith, sir... what about Miss Alton?"

Will's jaw clenched. "What about her?" he asked stiffly.

"Well," said Lowe slowly, "Jim's career will be ruined, certainly. And I suppose your intention is to go to her grandparents and inform them of their granddaughter's... actions?"

"How much do you know of my daughter's life, Mr. Lowe?" Will snapped. "You seem to know a great deal more than you should."

"Only that she lives with her mother's parents, who would also disapprove of her relationship with Jim," Lowe replied. "I don't know what would happen if your daughter's grandparents knew of their relationship, but I imagine it wouldn't be good, would it?"

Will paused. Though he didn't want to admit it, he knew Lowe, for however obnoxious he was, was right. Beth and Adam would be positively furious if they knew Cate had been fraternizing with a male crew member. They would treat her like their own version of _The Scarlet Letter_ , even though all she had done (as far as Will knew) was kiss him. Truthfully, it hadn't occurred to him to even tell them—why would it? He had threatened to tell Captain Smith as a means to keep Cate and Moody separated, even if it meant ending the lad's career. But...

" _I'm sure you're aware there's no use in trying to separate them forever_?" Lowe had said, just moments before. And they rang with truth. Even if he destroyed Moody's career, of course, the two would just find one another the moment they were able. As Catey had said earlier, they were apparently planning to marry when she turned twenty-one, at which point no one on earth could stop them. Will sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. " _A person shouldn't be able to say that about their father, but I can say it about mine_ ," Cate had said, her voice full of emotion.

Dear God, he had ruined her life. Will had ruined his daughters' lives. Even if Lillian enjoyed life in upper class, she still resented him for his absences and barely spoke to him. And Cate... she had been hurting for so long, yet she had never stopped being his little dreamer, his little girl. They had so rarely fought when she was growing up, and now, as she gained the courage to tell him she wasn't happy with the life he had made for her, it was all they did. And he had ignored her suffering. And even when they finally made up, he had let his anger cloud his judgment. That his colleague should be in love with his own daughter was wrong, but was it worth ending the lad's career and breaking his daughter's heart more than he already had? If Moody could make her happy when Will himself had failed, then why shouldn't he welcome it? Cate had proven that she wouldn't be happy in any life given to her by Adam and Beth, and even if it wasn't what Will had wanted for her... maybe he needed to step aside...

Will sighed again, but then started a bit, forgetting for a moment that Lowe was still watching him.

"Back to work, Mr. Lowe," he said, his tone brusque.

Lowe, for all his impertinence, knew better than to disobey a direct order from his superior. He nodded and turned on his heel before stalking from the chart room. Will watched him ago, letting out a long breath, feeling as if he had been holding it since _Titanic_ left Southampton. _Oh, Catey_... he thought miserably. He had a lot to make up to her in a short period of time.

* * *

All her life, Cate had loved the sea. At times she had resented it for taking her father away, but with a long line of grandfathers and uncles who had been entranced by it, how could she turn her back on it completely? Perhaps she didn't hear the siren call that her father heard, but she understood and respected Will's love for it. And she had loved it, too, in her own way, admiring its beauty and wishing to be free amongst its waves alongside her beloved father.

Throughout luncheon that afternoon, Cate had fretted about her conversation with Will and then with Mr. Lowe. _Would_ he tell the captain? Cate couldn't be sure, though she knew her father wasn't the type to throw out empty threats. (He had certainly held up on his promise to keep her confined to the cottage after she had pushed Lillian into a pond when they were seven years old.) Quigg Baxter had worked hard to make Cate smile, being his usual jovial self, but Cate had scarcely paid attention to the conversation around her, seeming to be even more unable to understand and speak French than usual. Cal, who had joined them with Rose and Ruth, invited Cate to attend a tour being given by Mr. Andrews, but Cate knew she couldn't bear to go up to the Bridge again, not when she knew James or her father might be about. How could she look James in the eye knowing she had destroyed his livelihood because of her love for him?

Now, Cate stood at the stern of the ship, at the spot to which she and James had stolen away to be alone. It seemed like that had been weeks ago, though it was just two days ago. She gazed out at the ocean, remembering how many times in her past that she had looked out at the same water. The first time she could remember sailing had been when she was five years old and Will was taking her and Lillian to New York to meet Beth and Adam for the first time—and to leave them there. The ocean, to her, always meant change, whether she was off to boarding school, or Pennsylvania, or Scotland. And it remained that way: everything was changing for her.

"Hello, Catey."

Cate wheeled around, so surprised to hear someone speak to her that she nearly fell over. (After all, she had broken the rules and sneaked into the third class area so she could be alone, so why should she expect anyone to come looking for her there?) It was her father who stood before her. He didn't look angry, but he wasn't smiling at her like he had at the hotel when they had seen each other for the first time in months. Why had he come? Was he trying to catch her with James?

"He isn't here," she blurted before she could stop herself.

Will sighed and shook his head. "I know," he said. "I didn't expect him to be here."

"Didn't you?" Cate countered. "I thought the only reason you ever wanted to speak to me anymore was to see if I was meeting with James in secret."

"Most of the time, you _were_ meeting him in secret," Will reminded her gently. "But that's not why I'm here, lass. Esther told me you might be here, so I came."

Cate wanted to retort that he probably just remembered reading about her time with James at the stern of the ship from her diary, but she knew she was in no place to start an argument, not when she held her future and that of the man she loved in his hands.

"So why did you come?" she asked wearily. "To tell me that you've told the captain?"

"I've not told him," Will replied. "And I'm not going to."

A silence followed his words. Cate stared at her father, unable to believe that he was telling her the truth. He had threatened for days to tell Captain Smith, he had finally gotten his proof that an officer was romancing a passenger, and had come so close to finally telling him. So what had changed?

"Really," Cate said slowly, carefully. "Why not?"

Will released a heavy sigh. "Because," he said, "I've realized that it's not just him that's to blame in all of this—you broke the rules, too."

Cate stared at him. "And?" she said. "What does that mean? You're going to tell my grandparents what I've done?"

"No," said Will. "That's exactly what I mean. Perhaps it's easy for me to say that I can tell Captain Smith about Mr. Moody's transgressions and ruin his career, but I know I can't tell the Altons and ruin your life. You're my daughter and I love you. No matter how many times you go against my wishes, that will always be true. And I can't blame and punish Mr. Moody without doing the same to you…. But I can't tell your grandparents."

Cate could hardly believe what she was hearing. His strong sense of justice, something she had always admired in him, was preventing him from exacting that very justice because it would mean she, too, would be punished? A strong feeling of love toward her father washed over her as she looked at him dumbly, her eyes wide. As often as they had argued over the past several days, they had never stopped loving one another. And he was forgoing his conviction for doing what was just in order to preserve her, his daughter, and keep her safe from the wrath of Beth Alton.

"So," Cate said cautiously, "does that mean… you'll allow James and me to be together? You'll step aside?"

Will was silent for a moment as he looked at her, Cate waiting on tenterhooks for his response.

"Yes," he said at last. "I still want you to remain apart for the rest of the voyage, for propriety's sake, but yes, I'll step aside. You can tell your grandparents when we reach New York that there's been a change of plans, and I can tell them that the deal's off."

Everything that Cate had been feeling since receiving the letter from her grandparents seemed to well up within her at that moment. She had been so angry, so fearful, so desperately sad, and now her father was fixing everything, just as he had when she was a little girl and she had skinned her knee.

"Oh, Da," she breathed, her voice thick.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she launched herself into her father's arms. Will chuckled as he held her close, kissing the top of her head. It had been so long since he had been a hero to either of his daughters, and now it had cost him nothing to be that person again.

* * *

Cate convinced her father to let her see James one last time before _Titanic_ reached New York. She wanted to continue making plans with him now that they would finally be allowed to be together, and she wanted to be the one to tell him so. Will, seeing the hope and happiness on her face, could not refuse, and agreed that she could come to the Bridge at six o'clock that evening when he went off duty for two hours. It would mean missing dinner with the Hockley party, Mrs. Brown, and Mr. Andrews, but Cate found she couldn't quite care. Soon she would be completely free of the restrictive life of a socialite.

Wanting to keep up appearances with the rest of the passengers, Cate did return to her cabin to change for dinner, selecting a dress of crimson silk, embroidered with golden flower patterns, with a scarlet empire sash at the waist and darker crimson velvet forming a "v" at the center of the bodice and reaching up to her shoulders. Long, black gloves completed the ensemble.

"Red is a color reserved for ladies with dark hair," Beth had always said when she saw Cate or Lillian eyeing a rose-colored gown, "like my Sophie. _You_ girls must be content with lighter colors."

If Beth had been traveling with her, Cate would have been forbidden from wearing the dress, simply because her grandmother did not think it looked as good on her as it would have on Sophie. Personally, Cate thought she looked just as good in red as she did in other colors, but arguing with Beth never did any good. One evening after Lillian had been unsuccessful in convincing Beth to order a scarlet gown for her, she and Cate had discussed the matter together and decided that Beth was reluctant for the two girls to wear _anything_ that Sophie would have liked or worn, lest they should remind Beth of her. And red had been Sophie's color of choice for the majority of her ensembles.

"Are you going to see Mr. James now, miss?" Esther asked eagerly as she slid the last pin into Cate's hair.

"I am," said Cate, unable to stop herself from beaming at her maid in the mirror. "I hope no one asks me why I'm going in the opposite direction from the saloon. I'm a terrible liar, of course."

Esther shrugged as she brought over a black shawl. "Tell them you're going on a walk," she suggested. "It's quite chilly tonight, though, miss, so be sure to take this."

Cate did as she was told and, as she stood, wrapped the shawl around her. Out in the corridor, she was unsurprised to see Cal and Ruth standing outside their door, though, a bit more surprisingly, with Cal's manservant. When their eyes met, Cal and Ruth strode over, neither looking happy.

"Cate, have you seen my fiancée?"

There were no pleasantries, only brisk coolness in his voice, so much so that Cate was taken aback for a moment.

"No," she said, a bit perplexed. "Not since luncheon. I'm sorry."

Cal sighed, looking annoyed, but Ruth patted his arm.

"She'll be along," she said. "She was a bit queer at tea this afternoon."

Cal didn't look convinced, though. Cate was starting to become late, and she didn't want to waste any time with James. However, it wasn't as if she could simply walk off. Or could she? This life of hers would soon be ending, and soon the opinions of Caledon Hockley and Ruth Dewitt Bukater wouldn't matter. On the other hand, Cate wasn't sure this meant she could simply start being rude to people, and she still had at least two more days to survive with them on board the ship.

"If I see her, I'll be sure to inform you," Cate said at last, hoping this was enough for them to dismiss her.

Cal looked at her and plastered a short, false smile on his face.

"Thank you," he said quickly. "We'll see you dinner then."

Much to Cate's relief, Cal and Ruth turned and walked off, leaving her to scurry down the corridor, to the other grand staircase. Each step, she knew, was bringing her closer and closer to James. The thought seemed to propel her forward until she was almost running. Up on the boat deck, the sun had already set, and, just as Esther had said it was much cooler than it had been on previous evenings.

She reached the Bridge just in time to see James say good night to his colleagues. Mr. Lowe was yawning, apparently having just woken up, and James was clapping him on the back. When he turned and saw Cate standing in the port-side entryway of the Navigating Bridge, he stopped his tracks and looked so surprised that it was almost comical. Mr. Lowe turned and smirked, but said nothing.

"Good evening, Mr. … Moody, was it?" Cate's voice carried the scarcest trace of a tremor, especially now that all of the other officers on the Bridge—which seemed to be every single one of them except her own father—were looking over at her. "I was looking for my father. Is he about?"

James seemed to be trying hard not to grin at her. His dimples were showing, but he was fighting to keep a straight face.

"Erm, yes, Miss Alton," he said in his most formal tone. "I believe he's eating in the officers' mess. I can show you the way, if you like."

"That would be very appreciated, thank you," said Cate with a small smile.

Quite conscious of the fact that the other officers were still watching them, Cate took the arm that James offered to her and led her back through a second entryway of the Navigating Bridge and onto the officers' promenade, between the walls of the officers' quarters and two gargantuan lifeboats. The very moment they were alone, James slid his arm from Cate's and turned to look at her.

"What's going on?" he asked, any joviality disappearing from his face, now looking only anxious. "Harold told me that your father found out that we saw each other last night and that he was going to tell the captain. But I haven't seen Will since, and I've no idea what's going on—"

Cate smiled and stepped forward, kissing him gently to silence him as she had done a number of times before; she found it to be quite effective.

"Relax," she said softly. "I spoke to my father this afternoon. He's not going to tell the captain."

James blinked. "What?" he said. "He's not? What do you mean? Why not? You looked positively distraught when I saw you this morning, and Will looked ready to kill me when he came on duty a little while later. I've been worried about you all day."

"Me?" Cate repeated. "You've been worried about _me_ when my father was threatening to ruin your career?"

"Of course," said James, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You looked so upset, and I wanted to be sure you were alright. I know how much you love your father and how much you hate fighting with him. Of course, I was concerned about my career, but I was more worried about you." He paused. "You look positively beautiful, by the way. Red is a lovely color on you."

Cate smiled. "Thank you," she said. "And as sweet as all that is, you don't have to worry about me anymore. Because my father isn't going to tell the captain. In fact, he's given us his blessing to be together. After the voyage, of course, but he said I could see you one last time to tell you before we dock."

Briefly, Cate told James about her conversation with Will and his reasoning for his change of heart. As she spoke, the glee on James' face grew and grew until, finally, it looked like his face might split from his beam. Despite the fact that they were outside and anyone could come upon them at any moment, he lurched forward and pulled her to him, kissing her and wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"Oh, my darling," James whispered, after another kiss. "I love you so very much."

Cate smiled. "I love you, too," she said. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stop saying that."

"Then don't!" James bent down and brought the top of her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. "I've got two hours before I need to work. Care for a tour?"

"Won't we be seen?" Cate asked, looking around. "Why were there so many officers on the Bridge just now?"

"Changing of the guard, as it were," James explained. "Joe, Lights, and I were all going off duty, and Harold, Herb, and Wilde were all going on. Your father doesn't go on until ten, so that's why he's not around."

"So you mean any of them could now have left the Bridge and be looking at us through these windows?" said Cate, glancing at the quarters to her right.

James looked past her. "Well, only Lights, since Joe's cabin is on the starboard side. But his cabin is a little further down."

"Still," Cate said nervously, picking at the hem of her glove. "I'd feel better if we were somewhere no one would find us. We still have to be discrete, after all."

James nodded, taking her hand again. They hurried further down the promenade to a nondescript door. James pulled it open, and they found themselves in a short, white corridor with nothing but a wall facing them. A few steps forward, however, and it opened up to a longer corridor lined with doors on the left-hand side. Instead of going down this corridor, though, James opened a door directly to their right.

Inside was a cabin very similar to Will's, albeit a good deal smaller, and certainly a bit messier. The same bed—unmade—with drawers underneath was nestled in a little cubby to their left, with a sink directly to their right, and a small desk across from them. In the far right corner was a wardrobe with one of the doors hanging open.

"Welcome to chez Moody," James joked, pulling his jacket off and draping it over his desk chair.

Cate raised her eyebrows as she closed the door behind her. "You speak French?"

"Yes, that one word," said James, "and only that one."

"It's impressive," said Cate, nodding.

James grinned. "I thought so."

He took her in his arms once more, kissing her softly. Cate was painfully aware that she was in a _man's_ bedroom, mere doors down from her father's, but she also knew that nothing would happen in the small confines of that cabin that had not already happened in her own. Her cheeks flushed at the memory, and she smiled a bit against his lips, returning his kisses eagerly. Soon, they would be able to be together like this any time they wanted, without fear of being caught.

But as her nimble fingers found the buttons of his shirt, she realized.

"James," she mumbled, reluctantly pulling away from him in spite of the growing warmth and desire within her. "We can't do this."

"Why not?" James asked, trailing a line of tantalizing kisses down her jawbone to her neck.

"Because last time," said Cate, struggling to keep her focus, "I was only in a dressing gown and a nightdress. I love you, but you couldn't possibly help me get my dress back on, not before you'd need to get back to work."

James pulled away and looked at her, his expression full of innocence. "You not having a dress on is a bad thing?"

Cate laughed, swatting his chest. "I'm serious!" she said, though she couldn't stop giggling at his mischievous grin. "Have you ever done up a corset before?"

James opened his mouth to reply, but Cate quickly cut him off, saying, "Actually, I don't want to know."

"I haven't," said James, rolling his eyes. "So, you're correct, we'd be in a right mess. I'd go back to work, and you'd be stuck here waiting for me… completely naked…. Please remind me why this is a bad thing?"

"Because," said Cate, laughing again, "I don't think, when my father asks you where I am, that you want to reply, 'Naked in my stateroom.'"

"You've raised a good point," said James, looking thoughtful. "I suppose I can control myself. After all…" He stepped forward again, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling his face into her neck. "Soon we'll have the rest of our lives to do this."

Cate's heart fluttered at his words. It didn't seem possible that they could be true, but how could she not believe him? Her father would talk to her grandparents and make them see reason. And even if he couldn't, it was worth it just to know he was on their side. They could wait two years if necessary, and then they would be together forever. Finally, just as she had given up, Cate could feel hope returning.

* * *

A sudden, bitter cold had descended upon _Titanic_ as she glided over black waters. It seemed as if every crewman had commented on it at one point or the other, whether it was Captain Smith mentioning it to Second Officer Lightoller before the former retired for the evening, Lights remarking on it to Will before he began his rounds, or Will acknowledging it to Boxhall as he came on duty at ten. Their breaths rose in misty clouds before their faces, and Will pulled on his black, leather gloves more snugly onto his hands. This would be a long four hours.

Every so often, Will's mind returned to the conversation he had had with Cate that morning. He had never seen her so happy. How could he have tried to keep her from such happiness, just because it wasn't the life he had originally envisioned for her? All that mattered was his daughters' happiness, even if that meant one of them would live far below the means that had been possible for her.

Though they were on duty together for another two hours until midnight, Will and James didn't speak of Cate, though Will could feel her presence in the silence pressing between them, sure that both men were thinking of her. The lad would go to bed that night and dream of her, just as Cate was surely dreaming of him at that very moment. Will wasn't sure how much good it would do to try to speak to the Altons—probably none at all—but he had to fight for Cate. No one ever had, and now he had to step up and do so.

As Will stood on the Navigating Bridge, blowing air into his cupped, gloved hands—to little effect—his attention was caught by the sound of a door opening and closing on the poop deck below. A young couple ran out together, holding on to one another, laughing. Will couldn't help but smile as they struggled to catch their breath, so hard were they laughing, turning to each other and speaking words only they could hear. He thought of Cate and Moody, of how happy they swore they would be together if only given the chance. Lillian had always been called "the happy one" as they were growing up, while Cate had remained half-hidden behind her sister. Maybe now she could finally step out from Lillian's shadow.

He turned away from the railing and looked back at the wheelhouse. Moody was on duty, but of course, no mention of Cate had been made. But anyone could see that the lad had a new spring in his step, that he was much more jovial than normal, even though he and Cate had promised to stay apart for the rest of the voyage—and hopefully this time they meant it. A time or two since Will had come on duty almost two hours ago at ten o'clock, he had gotten the impression that Moody had wanted to say something to him, but had thought better of it. Perhaps they would speak of Cate some time before they landed in New York, or perhaps on the way back to Southampton. Regardless, they would have plenty of time to speak on the coming voyages across the Atlantic and, indeed, throughout the rest of their lives once the lad became his son-in-law.

Will was startled from his thoughts when the sound of three bells from the crow's nest shattered the silence. Three bells. An object dead a head. He turned to face the bow once more, straining to see anything looming in the darkness, but there was nothing. The phone began ringing in the wheelhouse behind him, and he waited, knowing that Boxhall or Moody would answer it. A moment later, the ringing stopped, and Will heard indiscernible muttering, too far away to hear what the officer was saying. Then, suddenly, he saw it: a dark shape that he could just make out, barely lighter than blackness behind it. An iceberg.

He jolted from his position at the railing and lurched back to the wheelhouse. He met Moody at the doorway, who appeared to have been the one to take the call from the lookouts. As he approached, Moody yelled, "Iceberg right ahead!"

"Hard-a-starboard!" Will and Moody shouted, almost in unison.

The quartermaster began turning the great, wooden wheel as fast as he could to the left, and Will shoved past Moody, knocking most of the tea from his hand as he did so, to go to the dial in the middle of the Navigating Bridge, pulling it first to "Stop" and then "Full Astern." Then to the other side to do the same to the dial there. After that, there was nothing to do but wait. Moody was yelling, "Turn! Turn! Steady!" to Quartermaster Hitchens.

"Helm's hard over, sir!" he heard Moody yell, echoing the quartermaster's unheard declaration. But Will could barely process what either of them said.

Will ran to the railing of the Navigating Bridge again, filled with fear. He could feel droplets of sweat rolling down the sides of his face, and all he could think was, " _My daughter is on board. My daughter is on board_." The iceberg grew closer and closer, yet _Titanic_ seemed to steam straight towards it, heedless of her orders.

"Is it hard over?" he called back desperately, needing confirmation that they truly had done all they could.

"It is, yes, sir! Hard over!" Moody called back, sounding just as anxious as he stood in the doorway of the wheelhouse.

"Come on," he whispered, gripping the wooden railing so tightly that his fingers were aching, "come on, come on, turn."

He was pleading, begging the ship to miss the iceberg, to spare the 2,200 people on board. Which included his beloved daughter, his little girl. It had all happened so quickly, and he hadn't really had time to think as he acted on instinct and training. Over two thousand people were relying on him to act instantly. What if he had made the wrong call? He remembered the story he had told his little girls, about avoiding the other ship despite the captain's orders. What if he wasn't that lucky?

Slowly, achingly, painfully slowly, _Titanic_ began to turn.

"Yes," he breathed.

She kept turning. She was going to make it! But then, when the iceberg was terrifyingly close, Will felt it: not a jolt, but a sudden, barely-discernable shaking of the railing beneath his hands. _Titanic_ had struck an iceberg.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Hey, everyone! As always, thanks so much for continuing to read, review, favorite, and follow! It means a lot! -PB**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

 _Sunday, April 14, 1912_

Will wasn't sure how long he stared into the abyss, the very ship upon which he stood trembling beneath him. Ten seconds, twenty. Finally, he realized that, though _Titanic_ had struck the iceberg, there was more he could—and had—to do. He whirled around to Moody and bellowed, "Hard-a-port!"

Immediately, Moody, who had stood like a coil ready to spring, waiting for his orders, echoed them to Quartermaster Hitchens, who, in turn, began heaving the wheel to the right. This would, Will hoped, avoid damage along the whole length of the ship and isolate it to the bow. He hoped. Ice tumbled from the berg and clattered to the deck, sending the couple leaping backward, but Will scarcely noticed. He jerked from the railing and fled to the wheelhouse, to the switchboard on the wall. He turned the switch and pulled down the handle, knowing he was sealing the fates of many men in the bowels of the ship. The watertight doors would lower slowly, but in all likelihood, they would not have time to make it out.

One-by-one, lights illuminated on the board, signaling which doors were closed. Will stared at it for a moment, silently praying that the men had made it out. Sweat beaded his face and nausea churned within him. Perhaps it would all be minor. Perhaps there _weren_ _'t_ gallons upon gallons of water flooding into the depths of the ship at that very moment.

Will turned to Moody, who stood behind him with Hitchens, awaiting instructions.

"Note the time," Will said faintly, "and enter it in the log."

Moody did as he was told, glancing up at the clock before the telephone, and hurrying from the wheelhouse. At the same moment, Captain Smith appeared, looking frazzled in a state of half-dress. Will felt his dread mounting.

"What was that, Mr. Murdoch?" He didn't sound angry, or scared. Merely concerned and urgent.

"An iceberg, sir." Will felt his nausea rising, the sweat still rolling in beads down in his skin. "I put her hard-a-starboard and ran the engines full astern, but it was too close. I tried to port 'round her, but she hit, and I—" This was where Catey had inherited her tendency to babble when she was scared or nervous. Will couldn't seem to stop himself until Captain Smith did it for him.

"Close the watertight doors," he ordered, walking quickly to the Navigating Bridge.

"The doors are closed, sir," said Will, following him, marginally glad that he had done at least _something_ right in the midst of this mess. They were trailed by Boxhall, who had appeared as if from nowhere.

"All stop!" Smith called behind him.

"Aye, sir!" Boxhall ran to obey.

Captain Smith gazed down the length of the ship for the berg and, seeing nothing, turned toward the bow, looking at the poop deck where great chunks of ice had fallen. For a brief moment, he and Will stood silently, an eerie mirror of their conversation only days previously when the captain had ordered Will to take _Titanic_ full ahead to "stretch her legs."

"Find the carpenter," the captain said shortly. "Get him to sound the ship."

"Yes, sir!" Will turned and sped off to do as he had been told.

As he followed his orders, Will found his mind spinning, torn in half by the need to do as he had been instructed at that which compelled him to go to Catey's cabin, wake her, and carry her bodily into a lifeboat. Will tried to tell himself that it wouldn't come to that, that the ship _wasn_ _'t_ sinking due to his mistakes on the bridge, that two thousand people wouldn't die because of him. Including his daughter.

Will had to stop, his breathing now coming in ragged gasps. He leaned against the wall for support, as the very corridor in which he stood seemed to be spinning crazily. His daughter, his little girl, his baby. Dear God, no. If the ship really was sinking, how could he ensure she safely boarded a lifeboat? Would she even listen to him? Probably not. Slowly, he straightened up, knowing he had a job to perform, that he couldn't let his paternal instincts take over everything. His beloved Catharine was just a face in a sea of two thousand others. His duty had to be to everyone, not just her, even if the very thought tore him from the inside out.

* * *

"Most unfortunate, Captain!"

Men had followed Mr. Thomas Andrews, who carried his blueprints of the ship, into the chart room: Captain Smith, Mr. J. Bruce Ismay—who had spoken—and a number of officers, who had been woken at the captain's orders. Only Will was actually in the room with them, the rest remaining in the wheelhouse, listening, and he felt as if every word was a stab at him, knowing he had caused this.

Mr. Andrews hastily unfurled the blueprints, standing between the captain and Third Officer Pitman, who had helped his lengthy investigation of the damage.

"Water fourteen feet above the keel in ten minutes in the forepeak, and all three holds, and in boiler room six," said Mr. Andrews, running his hand over the plans.

"When can we get underway, damn it?!" Mr. Ismay demanded sharply, looking more and more flustered as the minutes wore on.

"That's five compartments!" Mr. Andrews snapped, before looking at the captain, who had remained mostly silent. "She can stay afloat with the first four compartments, breached, but not five. _Not five_." As he spoke, Mr. Ismay walked agitatedly to the other side of the room to stand behind Captain Smith. If Andrews was saying what Will thought he was saying...

He continued, "As she goes down by the head, the water will spill over the tops of the bulkheads at E-Deck, from one to the next, back and back—there's no stopping it."

"The pumps," Captain Smith interjected, "if we open the doors—"

"The pumps buy you time," Mr. Andrews cut across him, "but _minutes_ only. From this moment, no matter what we do, _Titanic_ will founder."

The briefest of silences followed his words. Will felt as if everything within him was dying.

"But this ship can't sink!" Mr. Ismay said incredulously.

"She's made of iron, sir! I assure you, she can!" Mr. Andrews lowered his voice again, looking desperately sad. "And she will. It is a mathematical certainty." He turned back to the plans, staring at them, as if willing them to transform and change what had been done.

"How much time?" Captain Smith asked.

Mr. Andrews paused, looking down at the blueprints, studying them, running equations and scenarios in his head. "An hour," he whispered at last. "Two at the most."

An hour. One hour to lower twenty lifeboats that could hold only half of the people on board. A death sentence had been rung out.

"And how many aboard, Mr. Murdoch?"

Wilde walked in and stood next to him, but Will scarcely noticed.

"2,200 souls on board, sir," Will said, his voice hollow. _And my daughter_.

Captain Smith turned to Ismay and said something, but Will barely heard. He turned and saw Moody looking at him as he stood in the doorway, the same fear reflected in his eyes. Of course, Will wasn't the only one there who was thinking of Cate. As Captain Smith began giving orders, Will did as he was told and left the room. In the wheelhouse, he pulled Moody aside.

"Make sure she gets onto a lifeboat," he said under his breath.

Moody nodded shortly. "Yes, sir."

Will watched the younger man walk away, hurrying to follow his instructions. For a moment, he could only stand there blankly as activity erupted all around them, and the officers prepared to uncover the lifeboats. Dear God, he had doomed them all.

* * *

 _Monday, April 15, 1912_

"Miss Cate! Miss Cate, wake up!"

Cate groaned and buried her face more deeply into her pillow. Morning had come far too quickly for her liking. Hadn't she just gone to sleep five minutes ago? But Esther kept shaking her shoulder and, blearily, Cate lifted her head a bit. She was facing the wall, but she could see out of the corner of her eye through the window that it was pitch black outside.

"Esther?" Cate moaned, pushing herself up and turning to face the maid. She winced at the harsh electric light.

"Miss Cate, you must get up. There's some sort of emergency."

"Emergency?" It took Cate a moment to register the word. What kind of emergency could there possibly be on board an unsinkable ship?

"Lucy, the stewardess, is waking up the passengers. She reached my cabin first, miss, and so I came here to help you dress."

Cate was taking in more details. She only just then saw that Esther, instead of her usual immaculate uniform, had wrapped a dressing gown around her night dress, and that her dark hair was disheveled. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Cate swung her legs over the side of the bed, trying to think and chase the dreams from her brain.

"Lucy said we should put on life jackets and go up to the Boat Deck," Esther continued, apparently eager to fill her mistress's silence. "I think they're swinging out the lifeboats. Perhaps it's just a drill."

Cate was inclined to disagree—of all the ships upon which she had sailed, none had had boat drills in the dead of night.

"What time is it?" Cate asked, peering at the clock on the other side of the room.

"Almost twelve-thirty, miss," said Esther. "I know it's late, and I'm sorry to wake you, but I think we should do as Lucy said and get up to the Boat Deck."

"Yes," Cate agreed groggily. But she couldn't seem to make herself move from the warm bed. "Perhaps we can find my father—he'll know what's going on."

"Good idea, miss." Esther scurried to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress, one that wouldn't require the layers upon layers of underthings and a corset. It was a simple, white dress, one Cate had often worn in Scotland when there was no need to impress strangers who had come 'round for tea. It was still elegant, of course, with lace designs and a silk sash—elegant enough for Beth to have purchased in the first place, that is. Once Cate had the dress on, Esther brought out a heavy, long coat of pure white fur.

"Oh, Esther, isn't that a bit excessive?" Cate asked as she ran a brush through her long hair. The only time she had ever worn that coat was during a winter visit to Montréal. "Surely, my violet coat would do better."

"It's quite cold, miss," said Esther, "far colder than it has been throughout the voyage. I'd feel much better if you wore this."

So, not wanting to argue with Esther's protective nature, Cate agreed and pulled the carpet-like coat on. They started for the door, but as Esther reached for the handle, Cate said,

"Wait, where's _your_ coat?"

Esther blinked, surprised. "I didn't bring mine on the voyage, miss. I didn't think I would need it, so I left it in Philadelphia. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Nonsense," Cate said briskly, going to the wardrobe and picking out the same violet coat she had just mentioned. "Wear this, Esther, please. I'll feel much better if you do."

Esther took a step backward, her eyes wide. "Oh, I couldn't, miss."

"I won't tell Grand-mère," Cate insisted. "Please wear it. I won't let you freeze out there if it's as cold as you say it is."

"But miss—"

"Esther, I will skip this entire lifeboat drill affair if you don't put on a coat," said Cate firmly. She hated to sound authoritative, but her maid could see the cracks in Cate's armor. Indeed, Esther smiled a bit, which, in turn, caused Cate to smile, as well.

"Very well, miss," said Esther with a slight sigh, in spite of her smile. "If you insist. What about our life-jackets?"

Cate thought of the stack of white life-jackets that were nestled on a shelf in the wardrobe. She had scarcely glanced at them throughout the voyage. From her past experiences during lifeboat drills, she knew it would be quite cumbersome to put on, especially with her thick coat.

"Let's wait," she said at last. "If we need to, we can come back and put them on. For now, let's go up and see what all the fuss is about."

Esther agreed, and together they left the room and walked out into the corridor. Several passengers were walking to and fro, none looking particularly concerned. Indeed, only the stewards looked hurried and nervous. As they made their way to the grand staircase, they found even more passengers milling about, chatting about what the commotion was about, but acting as if everything was some sort of game. Cate felt her unease rising as they walked up the stairs to A-Deck, wanting more and more to find her father and James. They, of all people, would be able to confirm to her that there was nothing wrong with the ship.

"Where is everyone?" Cate asked Mrs. Brown, who was talking to another passenger by the grand staircase on A-Deck.

"In the Lounge, I think," she replied, nodding at the corridor that led to a set of revolving doors. "The stewards told us to go to the Boat Deck, but it's too cold and loud, what with the funnels blasting!"

The atmosphere in the Lounge was quite lively, as if it was some sort of midnight party happening. Cate felt quite queer standing there in a dress with no corset, her long hair hanging about her shoulders and down her back. But no one seemed to mind—in fact, the vast majority of the passengers crowding about the room were in a similar state of undress, though they seemed to think that that added to the fun.

"Cate!"

Helen Newsom approached, smiling. It seemed an age since she had seen her, though, they had seen one another yesterday for luncheon. Helen was accompanied by a young man Cate had seen but had never met. Her mother and stepfather were nowhere in sight.

"This is Karl Behr," said Helen, looking at the young man with a glowing expression.

Cate blinked, looking from Helen to Mr. Behr, feeling mildly confused. Vaguely, she remembered her meeting with Helen and her mother, Sarah Beckwith, and how Mrs. Beckwith had mentioned Helen wanting to see ' _that man_ ,' before Helen had cut her off. Helen, for her part, seemed to be reading Cate's mind.

"We're courting," she admitted bluntly, still smiling. "Mother tried to keep us apart, which is why she arranged the tour of Europe, but Karl boarded in Cherbourg to be with me."

"Oh," Cate sputtered. She glanced at Esther, who was looking pointedly in the opposite direction. "Erm, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Behr."

"And you!" Behr replied jovially.

"Darling, this is Cate Alton," Helen explained. She turned back to Cate. "Mother and Richard are on the Boat Deck. They've told me to meet them, but it's just so warm down here. I think we must go, though, mustn't we?" She had gone from speaking to Cate to Karl in one fluid movement, looking up at her lover with stars in her eyes.

Helen and Karl departed, leaving Cate to stare dumbly after them. She didn't know what had inspired her friend to be so open about her secret relationship—perhaps the gaiety of this midnight party that seemed to be going on. Esther looked relieved when they left, pulling Cate's coat more tightly around herself.

"Perhaps we should go up, too, miss," Esther suggested. "It's seems as if more people are going outside."

Cate nodded. Together, they walked back out through the revolving doors and then onto the promenade deck. They both gasped in the sudden rush of cold air biting at their faces and bare hands. Cate snuggled further into the warmth of her coat as they headed up a set of narrow stairs to the port-side Boat Deck. There was a great deal of people milling about one of the lifeboats to their left, through which Cate could glimpse Officers Lightoller and Wilde directing.

"Women and children only!" Lightoller called out. "Please, step through, madam!"

"They're really lowering the boats," said Cate, shocked. Fear was mounting within her, and her stomach turned in knots. Perhaps this was worse than she had realized. "Maybe he'll know where my father is."

Because most of the passengers seemed to be reluctant to enter the boat, Cate found it easy to squeeze through them to the front. When Mr. Lightoller saw her, he extended his hand, his palm facing upwards.

"Step aboard, ladies," he said, nodding at her and Esther.

"Please, Mr. Lightoller," said Cate, stepping forward and lowering her voice so only he could hear. At least the funnels had stopped screaming. "I don't know if you remember me—I'm Cate Murdoch, Will's daughter. Do you know where he is?"

"You should board this lifeboat immediately," Lightoller said brusquely, "and find him later."

" _Please_ ," Cate insisted. "I'm not going anywhere until I've seen him."

Lightoller sighed, shaking his head. He glanced past her at all the women and children still waiting to board.

"Very well," he said quickly. "He is on the starboard side. But really, miss, you must board a lifeboat as soon as possible."

"Thank you." Cate took Esther's hand and pulled her from the crowd. They walked off to the side of the deck, toward the walls of the first class entrance. "I think this is worse than we thought," she said in a low voice. "Look at the officers—they're scared." She leaned close to Esther, whispering in her ear. "I think something is truly wrong."

"Really, miss?" Esther said fearfully.

Cate nodded. "We need to board a boat. You should board this one, and I'll follow."

"What!" Esther's eyes widened. "I couldn't possibly leave without you!"

"If the ship is sinking," said Cate, lowering her voice even further, "or if something else is wrong, then I need to retrieve some things from my room. Go on—I'll follow on another boat."

"No, miss," Esther said firmly. "I'll go with you to your cabin and we'll board a boat together. But I shan't leave you."

Esther looked so determined that Cate knew there was no point in arguing with her. They left the Boat Deck together and headed back down the grand staircase to B-Deck. While Cate scurried to her cabin, Esther went to her own, gathering any last valuables she might need. In her own stateroom, Cate tightly shut the lid of her Chinese sewing box and picked up her teddy bear from where it rested upon the settee. When Esther joined her, Cate took one last look around the beautiful room, wondering if she would ever see it again, yet, at the same time, telling herself that such a thought was ridiculous.

"It doesn't seem possible," Cate whispered. "How could something be wrong with the ship?"

"Maybe there's not," said Esther softly. "Maybe it's a false alarm."

"Maybe," Cate echoed, though she wasn't certain she believed her own words.

As they left the stateroom, Cate glanced at the time: one o'clock.

* * *

It seemed to take an age to reach the Boat Deck. Esther trailed Cate dutifully, having insisted upon "the proper thing," which was for her to carry the sewing box and the teddy bear while Cate went empty-handed. Exasperated, Cate had tried to tell her that such things no longer mattered.

"It does to me, miss," Esther had said with such conviction that Cate was silenced.

And so they walked. Cate wasn't sure if she was imagining a list toward the bow of the ship—indeed, no one else seemed to notice that anything was different or wrong. People still stood about, looking more uneasy than before, but no one was panicking.

On the Boat Deck, there were more passengers, but still they all seemed reluctant to board any of the lifeboats. Cate and Esther emerged onto the starboard side, looking for any sign of Will or James (though Esther didn't know what the latter looked like), but there was nothing. Only passengers and crewman that Cate didn't recognize. They headed left from the aft first class entrance, peering through the crowds of people, straining to hear some familiar voice. Finally, at the very end of the deck on the officers' promenade, she heard that blissfully distinguishable voice of her father.

"Any more women and children!" he called. "Any at all!"

But there were hardly any passengers about, and those that _were_ that far forward didn't seem keen to board a lifeboat. Cate walked easily through them to her father.

"Cate!" Will cried, not caring that the Duff Gordons in the boat, or indeed any other passengers, could hear him. He reached forward to take her arm and pull her to him. "Thank God, lass! I've been looking for you! Where have you been?"

"Da, what's going on?" Cate asked quietly, her own panic rising at the fear so evident on his face. "Is it just a drill?"

Will stared at her. He glanced at the passengers around them, no one paying them any attention, and stepped to the side, pulling her along with him.

"Catey, the ship is sinking," he whispered. "Fast. We—" he paused and swallowed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, "—we struck an iceberg, and she's going down by the head. You _must_ board a lifeboat _now_."

"But—" Cate sputtered. She couldn't seem to process what he was saying. "How—I thought the ship was unsinkable—"

"It's not, Catey," said Will. "Far from it. _Please_ , lass, get on this boat—"

"What about you?" Cate demanded, her voice rising in pitch with her rising panic. "What about James? Da, I can't leave you both."

"You can and you must! Lass, we'll get a different boat—"

"Will you?" Cate interrupted. "Can you promise me without a doubt? I want to get on the same boat that you both do!"

"Cate—"

"I won't leave you!" Cate could feel her eyes welling with tears. "Please, Da, don't make me leave without you and James! Promise me we can all get on a boat together!"

"Catharine!" Will seized her arms. "Listen to me!" He looked around and leaned in close, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "There are not enough lifeboats for everyone. Moody and I will board a boat if we can, but if you don't get on one, _you will die_."

Cate could only stare dumbly at him, trying to process his words. Will looked past her at Esther, who stood fearfully with the sewing box and the teddy bear. The sight of both objects seemed to almost break him.

"Esther," he called to her, holding out a hand. "Please, step aboard."

Esther, unlike her mistress, knew better than to disobey a direct order. She stepped forward, and Will took her arm and helped her step over the side of the ship and into the boat, which only held a very small number of people. When she was safely seated, Will turned back to Cate.

"Now you, lass," he said. "Moody and I will board a boat later. But you need to board this one."

But, to his horror, Cate shook her head slowly.

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't. I won't. Not without you and James."

"Catey—"

"I've got to find James." Cate took a step backwards, out of his reach. She knew he was not beyond grabbing her, even in front of all these people, if it meant saving her. "I won't leave until I know you both are safe."

Before he could reply, or pull her bodily onto the boat, she turned and ran. Tears stung her eyes when she heard him calling desperately after her, but she continued, shoving past other passengers who stood about, oblivious to their fates.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Hey, everyone. I'm sorry for my long absence—due to some personal things, I was unable to write for quite some time. However, I'm back at it, and I'm very appreciative of your patience and your continued reading, reviews, favorites, and follows! I also realized that I began writing "The Edge of the Ocean" on April 10, 2014 (I decided to finally post it here over two years later), exactly 102 years since** _ **Titanic**_ **left Southampton. Pretty nifty! -PB**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

 _Monday, April 15, 1912_

Cate didn't know where she was running to or for how long. She just knew she needed to get away from the father she so desperately loved before he could attempt to valiantly save her life by forcing her onto a lifeboat. A very strong part of her wanted to remain with him, clinging to his hand, helping him lower the boats, following him to make sure he would be safe. But he would never allow that to happen, never allow her to remain on a sinking ship if he could help it. So, she had to find James.

The thought caused her to slow, and she finally stopped somewhere mid-ship, struggling to catch her breath. Where was he? Even if she did find him in all this—and she could feel the passengers' energy rising, as if, one-by-one, they were realizing what was happening—she would never be able to convince him to board a boat with her. Like Will, James was much too noble. And even then, she couldn't board a boat with James knowing that Will remained on the ship.

Her breathing quickened even further. Cate leaned against the wall of the gymnasium, struggling to calm the racing of her pulse and the heaving of her breast. She had meant what she'd said: she would not get on a lifeboat without Will or James. Will would not board one while Cate remained on _Titanic_ , nor while there was still work to be done and boats to load, and Cate knew James would likely feel the same way, unless he was ordered to man a boat by one of the senior officers. Will, as a senior officer, would never decide to put himself in charge of a lifeboat while passengers still remained on _Titanic_ , and he had said that there were not enough boats for all the them. And Cate could not, would not, leave the ship without him or James. A frigid sense of calm seemed to descend over her like a blanket of ice. She was going to die.

 _Titanic_ was sinking. It seemed impossible. All she had heard throughout the voyage was that they were sailing on an unsinkable ship. Cate had begun this journey believing that she was headed toward a life of loveless servitude to a husband she could barely stand, angry at her father for choosing such a life for her. Then she had fallen in love, planned out a beautiful future, and reconciled, at last, with Will. Now it was all falling to pieces.

The desire to see James rose within her like a wave, but she didn't know what good it would do. Like Will, he would beg her to get in a boat, she would refuse, and he would continue working. But Cate knew she had to see him, had to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers, not knowing if it would be the last time. But as she peered through the throng of people, which seemed to multiply by the thousands with every passing second, she could see no sign of James, though she hadn't run very far.

" _Where are you_?" she whispered desperately, trying to catch the sound of his voice, or see the flash of one of his brass buttons. But there was nothing.

She and Esther had run up the forward starboard Boat Deck. Perhaps James was on the port side, along with Mr. Lightoller. Automatically, wanting something to do that wasn't simply hyperventilating against the gymnasium wall, Cate turned to the left and walked into the first class entrance, barely glancing at the beautiful staircase and the glass dome illuminated above her as she crossed through to the other side.

As she stood just outside the doorway on the Boat Deck, she looked around at the other passengers. Everything felt normal… how could the ship be sinking? The boat, as well as the one beside it, that Officer Lightoller had been filling, was gone. Indeed, most of the crowd seemed to have moved further aft to where the other lifeboats waited. As Cate watched, she saw and heard more than the relative calm that seemed to have encompass everyone… a woman refusing to leave her husband; a seaman walking quickly and purposefully past, his brow furrowed; the beads of sweat on a crewman's face.

James. Everywhere, she thought she heard his voice. Was he further aft? It was likely, but which side would he be on? Frustration rose within her… they were on the same ship, yet they seemed worlds apart. Even if she went further aft to find him, what then? He would be loading a boat and could not stop what he was doing. What could she hope to accomplish by finding him, other than merely being by his side until they perished together?

A sudden explosion reverberated above them, and Cate looked up, startled, to see white sparks floating gently from their position in the night sky, illuminating her face and burning her eyes. Distress rockets. Would anyone see them and come to their rescue? Perhaps everything would be fine—surely, someone would see the rockets and hear their cries for help. Then she, and her father, and James could all escape safely. A sort of calm seemed to descend over her at the thought, at this sudden belief that everything might work out. She turned to the right and headed forward up the boat deck, walking through the "Crew Only" gate without pausing in her stride. Someone had to be setting off the rockets. Perhaps it was James.

But as she headed for the Bridge, she paused. Far, far out to the left on the horizon, something caught her eye. There was a twinkling light that, at first, she took to be a star, but quickly realized that it was far too bright and too golden. What else could emit light in the middle of the north Atlantic?

Another ship.

Cate's heart leapt in her chest. She turned and ran the rest of the length of the Officers' Promenade, turning right onto the Bridge. Only one officer remained there, one she vaguely recognized as Officer Boxhall, whom she had met that very afternoon? Was that all it was? It seemed like eons.

"There's a ship!" she cried, pointing wildly out at the horizon. "There's a ship out there who can help us!"

She expected Boxhall to leap into action, but he merely looked at her in defeat.

"I know," he said, shaking his head bitterly. "It's been there for some time—why do you think I'm setting off rockets?" He nodded at the launcher behind him on the Navigating Bridge. "They're not answering any of the wireless messages, nor are they responding to my Morse lamp." He sighed and shrugged. "They won't come."

"But they're so close," Cate whispered, wringing her hands together. "We can _see_ them! Surely, they'll answer and come to the rescue!"

"You've read too many novels, Miss Alton," Mr. Boxhall said, smiling sadly. "Things don't always work out in our favor, no matter how much we want them to." He paused. "You should board a lifeboat."

"Why?" Cate demanded, suddenly furious. "Because I'm a woman? Why should I leave the ones I love behind so I can save my own skin? I'm worth no more than they are!" Tears burned her eyes suddenly, and she brushed them away impatiently. "I've made my decision, and I'm going to stay."

Mr. Boxhall blinked at her outburst. "Whatever you say, miss," he said, smiling slightly. "I can't say that your father and Jim will agree with your decision, however."

"Jim?" Cate sputtered, her eyes widening. "What does he—"

"We all know," Mr. Boxhall said gently. "That is to say, Jim didn't exactly hide it well, and neither did Will when it came to him being suspicious. We all know Jim is head over heels for you."

Cate's cheeks blushed fiery red, and all she could do was sputter incoherently. If everyone knew, then how had it taken Will so long to figure it out? Had he simply been in denial?

"Do you know where he is?" Cate asked at last when she had managed to regain some of her composure.

Mr. Boxhall shrugged. "Launching boats," he replied vaguely. "As is your father."

"I know," Cate said softly. "I've seen him."

"He loves you dearly, too, you know," Mr. Boxhall stated matter-of-factly. "We were never exaggerating, really, when we said he could speak of nothing but you."

"I know," Cate repeated. She could feel tears welling in her eyes again, but this time she didn't bother to brush them away. "I love him, too. He's my favorite person in all the world. But he wanted me to board a boat without him and James… and I couldn't. I can't leave them."

"I don't have a suggestion for you," said Mr. Boxhall, frowning. "Maybe that ship on the horizon will arrive in time, maybe it won't. But if it doesn't… Will probably wouldn't like me to tell you this, but the nearest ship, _Carpathia_ , still won't arrive in time. We're not all going to make it out of this."

A feeling of dread, like the low note of a single bass, seemed to rise within her. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she swallowed.

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

"Mr. Andrews said two hours at the most," said Mr. Boxhall with a shrug. "That was quite a while ago, but the ship seems to be sinking a bit more slowly than he had thought it would."

"And what is," she asked slowly, "the protocol for officers in situations such as these? When… when it comes to boarding lifeboats?"

Mr. Boxhall sighed. "Us junior officers… that is, everyone from the third officer down, will board a boat if we're told to by one of the senior officers, with priority given to the youngest, most junior officers. Until then…"

"And what of the senior officers?" Cate could barely make herself ask the question.

But Boxhall said nothing. He merely looked at her, an unreadable expression upon his handsome face. And that low note of fear playing within her swelled to its crescendo.

* * *

Will Murdoch had accepted the inevitable. There was no way round it, just like there had been no way round the impenetrable iceberg that had blocked their path. Will could see snippets of his life flashing before his eyes as he worked as fast as he possibly could to uncover and lower the lifeboats, ushering passengers as they grew more and more frightened, terrified to leave their husbands, and brothers, and fathers, and sons, but terrified to stay.

Catey. Lilly. His darling girls who had dropped so suddenly into his life and had given him new purpose. While he was utterly horrified that Catey was somewhere on board that sinking ship, somewhere beyond his reach, refusing to board a lifeboat, he thanked God that Lillian, his feisty lily flower, had remained in Philadelphia. Perhaps Catey would make it. Perhaps Moody would find her and convince her to board a boat. As a woman in first class, she had the greatest chance over any to survive this.

But Will… he knew there was no chance. With twenty boats that had a capacity of about one thousand, half the people on that ship would die. Half the people just now realizing they were in danger didn't even have a prayer of making it through the night alive. And Will, as the third-most senior officer behind the captain and Wilde, was among them. The junior officers would be given priority to man the boats as they were lowered, but never the senior officers. Never.

The only ship coming to rescue them, Will had heard, was _Carpathia_ , and she would arrive hours too late, long after over a thousand people would freeze to death.

 _I_ _'m so sorry, my girls_ , he thought as he helped a woman into boat number nine.

He had abandoned them as children and would no abandon them again with his death. But at least Lillian would, certainly, be taken care of, by her wealthy fiancé. And Moody, as the most junior officer, would likely survive, as well, and he and Catey could live the long, happy life together that they had planned.

"Right this way, madam!"

Speak of the devil. Will looked up, startled from his thoughts, to see that Moody had joined him in the lowering of the lifeboat. He was aiding an elderly woman step precariously across the chasm between the ship and the boat, holding her gently yet firmly, and guiding her through.

When the boat had been loaded—it wasn't quite full, but it had more people than any boat Will had loaded so far that evening—he gestured Moody to join him off to the side. The other members of the crew hurried off to another boat, but Will knew this might be the last time he had a chance to speak to the younger officer.

"Have you seen Cate?" he asked without preamble.

Immediately, Moody looked immensely alarmed. His light blue eyes widened, and he glanced around quickly.

"No, sir," he said. "I had thought—or hoped—that she'd already boarded a boat. I assumed you knew where she was."

"I saw her earlier, but she ran off." As Will spoke these words, he felt his heart squeeze with dread. "She refused to get on a boat without me or you."

Moody let out a long breath. "That's Cate for you," he muttered. Then he seemed to realize whom he was speaking to. "I'm sorry, sir," he said quickly. "I didn't mean—"

"It's quite alright," said Will. He smiled, just a bit. "You're in love with her. I know you'll be good to her and make her very happy."

"I'll certainly try to make her happy," said Moody, nodding. He looked around again. "That is, assuming we make it out of this."

"You will," Will said firmly. "That's another reason I wanted to speak to you—if you find Cate, you need to make sure she gets on a boat."

"I'll try," said Moody, "but you know what she's like—I don't think she'll board one willingly if you're still on the ship."

"She will if you convince her to," Will said quietly. "She won't listen to me, but she'll listen to you. The pair of you have a long life ahead of you—if you get off this ship, then she will, too. Say whatever you need to in order to get her on a boat. If you do find her, you have my orders to man the next boat you see. If you get off _Titanic_ , she'll go with you—I'm sure of it."

Slowly, Moody nodded. "I'll do my best, sir," he said. "I won't board a boat until I've found her."

Will clapped Moody on the shoulder, smiling sadly. "Good man." But then he sighed, reaching forward to shake his hand. "Take care of her, son."

Moody nodded again, solemnly. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Things were getting progressively worse. Will and the other officers loaded boats as quickly as possible, but the passengers had become panicked. Men struggled to push past him as boat fifteen was lowered, and he held out his arms to keep them from jumping over the side of the ship. He heard screams below, heard the shouts of the terrified men around him. All at once, it seemed, everyone had realized that their lives were in danger. Three gunshots sounded from somewhere on the other side of the ship, and he glanced over. As he turned away from the side, heading forward, he was approached by a well-dressed man still in his dinner jacket.

"Mr. Murdoch," he said, walking swiftly beside him.

Will glanced at him, recognizing him as the first class passenger he had met days ago—it seemed like a lifetime. Cate had introduced him as Cal Hockley, from Philadelphia.

"Mr. Hockley," Will said curtly. He looked over at two able-bodied seamen and called, "You two with me now!"

"I'm a businessman, as you know," said Hockley, weaving past people to keep up with him, "and I have a business proposition for you."

This was the last thing Will needed—a rich man bribing his way onto a boat.

"Mr. Hockley, I don't really have time—"

"It involves your daughter, Catharine."

Will stopped in his tracks. He turned and stared at Hockley, who was several inches taller than he, as a satisfied smirk curled onto his face.

"Now that I've got your attention," he said smoothly. There was an older man standing just behind him—his valet, probably, or his bodyguard.

"You two go on," said Will, nodding at the seamen he had called. They did as they were told and, despite the chaos swirling around them, Will, Cal, and the bodyguard were left alone. "How do you know about my daughter?" he demanded, his voice low.

Infuriatingly, Hockley laughed. "I've known since the beginning of the voyage," he said. "I must say, it does explain things—it ties together rumors that have floated around about the Altons for years: Sarah disappearing for almost a year and Beth and Adam turning up with two orphans right after Sarah dies—"

"Sophie," Will growled through gritted teeth.

Hockley stopped his taunted, looking politely perplexed. "I'm sorry?"

"Her name," Will snarled, "was _Sophie_."

Will saw no point in denying the allegations; there was even a bit of relief about someone on "the other side" knowing the truth. But just a little.

"Yes, well." Cal smoothed out his coat. "I'm sure you understand, Mr. Murdoch, that the information I possess is enough to completely discredit the Altons—and that includes your daughters."

Will was silent.

"The press would have a field day," Cal continued, grinning. "Beth and Adam wouldn't be able to show their faces in polite society again—harboring the bastard twins of their dead daughter, pretending they're the orphans of a respectable marriage, when, in fact, they're half-breeds of a penniless sailor."

"You think because you have money, you're better than me?" Will spat.

Cal blinked. "Well, yes," he said, as if it were the most obvious response in the world. "I have more money in my coat pocket that you can ever hope to possess in your entire life, Mr. Murdoch. That is—" he paused, holding up a finger, "—unless we can come to an agreement."

"And what agreement is that?" Will asked, his voice dripping with derision.

"I'm sure you don't want to ruin your daughters' lives," Cal said smoothly, not bothering to keep his voice down. Such things didn't matter, anyway, with panicked passengers running to and fro. Will was horribly conscious that this bastard was keeping him from doing his duty to save as many people as he could, but he felt rooted to the spot. "Therefore, I'll offer you a deal—if you can guarantee my place on a lifeboat, I won't tell the newspapers about your daughters' true origin."

"You sick son of a bitch," Will growled. "You'll blackmail my daughters to save your own skin?"

"I always win, Mr. Murdoch," Hockley said coldly, "no matter what it takes. And in case your children's ruination isn't enough incentive for you, I'll sweeten the deal. If you recall, a few moments ago, I told you that I carry more money in my pocket than you'll make in your entire life—if you guarantee my place on a lifeboat, I can change this. I'll give you ten thousand dollars in cash right now."

Will stared dumbly at him, almost unable to comprehend what was being said. Ten thousand dollars? Even without knowing the exchange rate of American dollars to pounds, he knew that was an extreme amount of money, much more what he could hope to make during his lifetime. Not only that, but he would save his daughters from scandal and ruin. But it wasn't right. He couldn't deny a woman or child their place on a lifeboat in favor of this bastard. And he knew neither of his girls would want him to do that.

"There's no deal, Mr. Hockley," Will said at last, his voice as cold as the wind whipping around them.

He started to walk away, mildly enjoying the shocked expression on the other man's face, when Hockley quickly stepped around him and stopped him in his tracks.

"I'll make sure Cate boards a lifeboat," he said swiftly. "She knows me and trusts me—she'll do as I ask."

"You clearly don't know her very well, then," Will said dryly, though his heart leapt at the thought of Cate not boarding a boat.

Hockley rolled his eyes. "Think of it, Mr. Murdoch," he said impatiently. "On one hand, you become a rich man, you save both Lillian and Cate from ruin and scandal, and you make sure Cate survives the night. On the other, she very well may perish. Is that what you want?"

Will swallowed. He didn't know anything about Hockley, other than the fact that he was clearly a smooth talker—could he convince Cate to board a boat? He wasn't sure how, but could he ignore the chance? What if Moody never found Cate and she was left wandering the deck until the ship went down? He shivered at the thought.

Hockley looked around impatiently, starting to look anxious at the time they were wasting. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two thick bundles of bills, each marked with the number 50 in the corners.

"Do we have an understanding, then, Mr. Murdoch?" he said quickly, shoving the bills into Will's own pocket.

Will glanced down at the bills and then again at Hockley. He didn't want the money, but how could he deny Cate an extra chance of escaping this? He couldn't. He stared at Hockley for a moment, hating the man with every fiber of his being, and turned and left without a word.

* * *

When Cate left Mr. Boxhall, he was launching yet another rocket, in spite of his belief that the ship on the horizon would not heed their call. Instead of reemerging onto the Boat Deck, however, she turned left down the same corridor down which James had led her just that morning (or, rather, the morning previously, as it was now well past midnight) after she had accompanied Captain Smith to the Bridge after the church service. He had led her round the corner and, the moment they were out of sight of the quartermaster, took her in his arms and kissed her. She shivered at the memory and continued through the door before her.

As she passed her father's stateroom, she paused, reaching up to place her fingers on the cool metal of the placard bearing the words "First Officer." She was so glad they had made up. Even if he hadn't given his blessing for her and James to be together, she was glad they were no longer fighting. Sighing, Cate turned and continued down the corridor until she reached James' door. Like everything else, it felt like ages that she had been here, though it had only been hours. She took a breath as she reached forward and turned the knob, which was mercifully unlocked, and pushed open the door.

The cabin was just as James had left it earlier, with the bed unmade and a shirt tossed haphazardly over the back of the desk chair. Unable to stop herself, Cate entered the room fully, shutting the door behind her, and walked over to pick up the shirt. She held it to her body, letting the soft fabric caress her face, as she inhaled deeply. Where was he? Was he, at the same moment, wondering where she was? She felt closer to him, alone in his stateroom, than she had all evening. It seemed a relief to get away from the panic that seemed to be rising more and more on the ship, though she knew she was wasting time. Yet she couldn't seem to make herself leave.

James. Her sweet James. It seemed impossible that they had only known one another for just over a week. He knew everything about her, had kissed away her fears, and, she could scarcely believe it, had fallen in love with her. And she loved him, too, so desperately that she wanted to cry out for love of him. It wasn't as if lightning had struck the moment they'd lain eyes on one another—quite the contrary, they had shaken hands and smiled, and assumed they would never see each other again. But he had appeared the very next day at the café outside which she sat reading, and there they had talked for several hours as the light and shadows moved around them. They hadn't been able to stay apart, no matter how many warnings Will had given them. And then… Cate had felt like she had been waiting a thousand years for his kiss. Though she hadn't yet said it at that point, she had known deep down that she loved him and that there could be no other whom she could ever hope to love as she loved him. She had become a woman on this voyage—not simply because she had gone to bed with a man for the first time, but because she had truly metamorphosed into something so different from who she had been. She had made a choice for the first time her life and James had been the best decision she could ever possibly make.

There was still so much they had to do. She wanted to take him to Dalbeattie, to see the cottage in which she had been raised. She wanted him to meet her grandparents, and her aunts and uncles, and her cousins, especially her dear Gwendolyn. She even wanted him to meet Lillian. She wanted to show him the beautiful, emerald fields where she had spent her childhood running, picking wildflowers, the ponds where she had swum, the beautiful sapphire skies underneath which she had lain counting clouds and daydreaming. She wanted to spend time with both James and Will at once, with no secrets between them, as a daughter and her father, a woman and her lover, and a father and his son-in-law. A family.

Oh, her darling father. How Cate loved him and adored him. Her very first memory was of being quite small, her third birthday. It was a warm evening at the end of August, and the family had gathered at Nana and Papa's house to light a bonfire, and sing, and tell stories. Someone was playing the bagpipes. Will had held Cate in his arms and danced with her, laughing as she laughed, holding her tightly and spinning, jumping with her, and making her laugh even harder. She had cried more tears over her father than anyone else, though she had never loved him any less for it. She had written to him weekly whilst in boarding school, and treasured his letters like gold, tracing his signature with her fingertips. Once, when they had been about sixteen, Lillian had brought up the possibility that they _weren_ _'t_ Will's children—what if Sophie had lied? What if they _were_ John Widdick's children, or some other man's? Lillian had been convinced that it was a real possibility, but Cate knew deep within her heart that Will was their father. Even besides the fact that they looked so much like him, Cate just knew. And she knew Lillian, in spite of her bitterness and contrary attitude, did as well.

Her beloved father. Her darling James. How could she be expected to leave either of them behind? Of course, she couldn't. Cate would never board a boat knowing that either Will or James was left behind. And that, she knew, sealed her fate. She would die. A lull settled over her. It was not peace, but a semblance of acceptance. They were all going to die, for how could they survive together? Just a week ago, she had thought her life was over: she was to marry a faceless rich man and live out her days as a socialite in Philadelphia. Now, here she stood, in love with James with her father's blessing, and, it seemed, facing her oblivion aboard _Titanic_. And she wouldn't trade a second of it.

As she stood there, feeling the silence surround her like a thick blanket, she finally felt it. _Titanic_ , always so sturdy and solid beneath her feet, was sinking, and she could feel it. She realized that she had been leaning forward ever so slightly, against her will, pulled by gravity and the bow as it sank lower and lower into the water. There was a definite list to this beautiful ship, one she hadn't noticed before now. Had it been there the whole time? Cate let the shirt fall from her hands. She turned and left the room quickly, heading down the small recess through which James had led her earlier, and emerging onto the Officers' Promenade. She turned back to the right, walking forward until she reached the half-wall at the end of the Boat Deck on the Bridge. When she looked out at the bow, she froze.

Almost half of _Titanic_ 's bow was submerged, listing heavily to port. Water crept slowly up the wood, covering the cranks, and ropes, and machinery and swallowing them hole. Their very world was sinking beneath their feet, and Mr. Boxhall had all but told her that there was no hope for any of them. Cate could feel her breathing growing heavier as she looked out at the black water glittering with the reflection of the ship's lights. Her hands gripped the wall so tightly that her fingers ached. Dear God, they were all going to die.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Monday, April 15, 1912_

As Cate hurried aft, weaving her way in between people who milled about or who headed in the same direction as she, some running, others seeming almost leisurely, Mr. Boxhall's words washed over her: " _Us junior officers… will board a boat if we're told to by one of the senior officers, with priority given to the youngest, most junior officers_." The youngest, most junior officer was James—he was only twenty-four and he was of the lowest rank. A glance at the clock on the Bridge as she'd left had told her that it was close to one forty-five in the morning… surely, James would have been ordered to man a boat by now.

He was safe! He had to be! She knew James wouldn't want to board a boat without making sure she, too, was safely away, but he would never disobey a direct order. If any of the senior officers told him to man a boat, then he would . And then he would be safe! Cate felt relief flooding through her, and for a moment, she was quite overcome by it. She stopped in her tracks, placing a hand over her pounding heart. He was safe. She could feel it. Her love was safe.

"Mademoiselle Alton!"

Quigg Baxter was heading toward her, no longer his usual, jovial self. He had an air of solemnity about her, though he did look surprised to see her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking around. "Why have you not embarked a boat?"

Cate almost smiled at his charming English, the beautiful lilt to his accent.

"I can't," she said, shaking her head. But how could she explain? He couldn't know about her situation, neither of her father, nor her lover. He wasn't a part of that world, no matter how much she liked him and enjoyed his company.

To her surprise, however, Quigg nodded in understanding.

"Berthe wanted to stay with me," he explained. "I had a hard time to get her to leave, but she did in the end. It is for the best."

The truth had emerged: Cate had always suspected that there was more to Quigg's and Berthe's relationship than simple companionship—anyone could see it in the way they looked at one another. But Quigg, a gentleman, was unable to join her in the lifeboat.

"Perhaps there will be another boat for you," Cate tried feebly.

But Quigg smiled sadly and shook his head. "I do not think so," he said. "I would not take the place of a woman or child, _quand même_. But you… you still have a chance, Mademoiselle."

Cate thought of James. He was, most likely, safe aboard a lifeboat. But she could not be sure, and she could not leave her father. James would be sad, furious no doubt, if he were to ever learn that she had purposefully remained on board the ship when she could have been saved, but Cate could not risk losing either of one of them. And if James did survive, then he would be alright without her. His life could continue on as it had a week-and-a-half ago, before they had even met. The thought caused her eyes to sting once more with unshed tears.

"You are in love," Quigg said knowingly when Cate didn't respond. "I can see it in your face, Mademoiselle Cate. And this man cannot go with you."

"I don't know where he is," Cate whispered. Quigg had to lean forward to hear her about the panic and commotion that had taken over the ship. "He may have already boarded a boat… I hope he has. But… but I can't be sure."

Quigg's eyes widened. "Before you?"

"He may not have had a choice," Cate explained. "He's…" she took a breath. "He's an officer."

There was small, evanescent relief at finally telling the truth, especially to someone in "her crowd." But she knew she could trust Quigg, even—a small voice in her head whispered cruelly—even if he did survive the sinking.

Quigg, however, didn't looked shocked. He merely nodded.

"I see," he said. "And you think that maybe he was ordered to… to be in charge of a boat?"

"It's possible," said Cate. "I hope so. But I can't leave if I'm not sure. How can I leave him behind?"

The tears that had welled in her eyes once again began rolling down her cheeks. She made no effort to hide them or to stop them.

"If he loves you," Quigg said slowly, "and he is a gentleman—and if you love 'him, then I'm sure that he is—then I believe he would want you to. I would not want Berthe to forfeit her life just to be with me. She deserves more than that."

"But she loves you," said Cate, almost pleadingly.

"And I love her," Quigg agreed. "Very much. But she deserves to have the chance to be happy with someone else… in Montréal if she decides to stay, or _la Belgique_ if she decides to return there. And if your love has gotten on a boat… then you will cause him to be without you."

Pain and guilt squeezed at Cate's heart. "He'll be alright," she insisted. "He's strong. He's…"

Quigg smiled again. "And you're not strong?" he said. "Mademoiselle, I may not have known you for long, but I know that you are stronger than you think. It was not easy to let Berthe leave, to tell her to go without me, but I know it was for the best. And if I thought for an instant that she had a chance to escape but didn't take it… I could never live with myself. I'll die happy knowing she's safe."

"Quigg," Cate whispered, reaching over to touch his hand, feeling it was a feeble gesture, "you don't know that—"

"It's okay, Cate," he assured her, smiling a dazzling smile. "I'll be a gentleman. But you… need to find your officer. Go on."

But as Cate started to turn, finding it difficult to tear her eyes away from this man who was so readily accepting his death, he quickly took hold of her hand.

"If you make it," he said slowly, his voice solemn once more, "please… find Berthe and tell her… tell her I'm okay, and that _she'll_ be okay. Tell her I love her."

Cate swallowed the lump rising in her throat. The ship was leaning heavily, and people rushed past them, surging toward the stern to the remaining boats, but Cate felt rooted to the spot.

"I will," she whispered.

* * *

The money felt like a heavy weight in the pocket of Will's greatcoat. He was terribly conscious of it as he worked quickly to lower the aft starboard boats, shouting orders and moving as quickly as he could to save as many lives as possible. But it still wouldn't be enough. He was terrified to load the boats to their full capacity—what if the davits weren't strong enough to hold them? Then he would be responsible for even more deaths than he already was. Beside him, working just as diligently, was Moody. Every so often, the two men's eyes met, and they spoke the same, silent word that was parading through both their minds: _Cate_.

A very large part of him wanted to send Moody off to go searching for her, to abandon the loading of the boats and to run shouting through the crowd. But, of course, Will knew he could do no such thing, though he knew Moody would do it the very second he was ordered to, knew that the lad likely wanted to do it. But their duty had to remain to everyone, not just to the beautiful young woman who seemed to have vanished.

As Will ushered another young woman, who had hair in a beautiful shade of gold, he thought of Lillian. He found it was easier to think of her, knowing she was safe and sound in Philadelphia, rather than Cate, who could be up to her neck in freezing water, trapped below decks somewhere. Lilly, his oldest, his fiery princess, the first of his daughters that he had held and greeted, the one who had made him a father almost nineteen years ago. He remembered holding her hand and walking with her through the emerald green fields of Dalbeattie, having tea parties with her, receiving long-winded letters explaining her days in minute detail. He remembered her running to meet him down the dirt path that led to their cottage, pecking him on the cheek when he swung her up into his arms. He smiled to himself as he recalled the song she had invented one day at the age of five: " _Daddy, oh, my Daddy, how I love you madly_." She had sung it for hours, singing it even more loudly when Cate shouted at her to "stuff it."

As Will moved onto the next boat, he felt the money shift in his pocket. He should have thrown it at Hockley's face, but he hadn't been able to deny the chance of Hockley convincing Cate to board a boat. Will didn't want the money—it wouldn't bring him happiness, nor would it fix the damage he had done throughout his life in his failure to raise his daughters. And though Will hated to think that they would be blackmailed, he knew they would survive it. Cate wouldn't care, certainly, and Lillian would get through it. But the very small chance that Cate might survive the sinking… he had to take it, no matter the cost, even if it meant saving someone like Hockley.

As Boat 15 was lowered into the inky black water, Will felt nausea churning within him once more. Every aft boat was gone. As far as he knew, there were only four or so boats left all the way forward, depending on how quickly Lightoller was loading them on the port side. Four boats, and three of them collapsibles and smaller than the others. People were truly panicking, some heading aft, away from the sinking, and others running forward, toward the boats. They would be swamped by the time he got there.

And it was his fault. Every bit of this was his doing. What could he have done differently? The very second they had received the call from the Crow's Nest, he had done everything in his power to turn the ship. But it hadn't been enough. Every second since then, he had felt physically ill with the guilt that threatened to overcome him. Over a thousand people would likely die, and it was all because of him. His own daughter, his baby girl, could die because of him. She probably _would_ die, he realized, if she hadn't already boarded a boat. Perhaps she was already dead. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly overcome. God, no. Not his Catey. Not his little dreamer.

"Sir?" It was Moody who had stopped beside him, looking concerned in spite of the chaos that surrounded them. "Are you quite alright?"

"Have you seen her, lad?" Will breathed. He couldn't seem to stop the racing of his heart. "Even a glimpse of her anywhere?"

Moody swallowed. "No, sir," he said, shaking his head. "I keep thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye, but it's never her. I'd like to think she's already gotten away, but…"

"She wouldn't board a boat without you," said Will, sighing heavily. "Either of us. She told me as much. God, what if she went below decks—"

"She'd have no reason to," Moody interrupted quickly. "You said her maid had gotten off with her most valued possessions, so what other reason would Cate have to leave the Boat Deck? She knows neither you nor I would be down there."

Why, _why_ hadn't Will just found some way to convince her to stay with him—not to board a boat, but to wait until they found Moody? The two had been working together for most of the evening, and if Cate had just stayed there instead of running off, then she and Moody would have long since gotten away. But now it was likely too late. For any of them. But how could he not try?

Where was she? Hockley had obviously not made good on his promise to make sure Cate boarded a boat safely. Will had come all the way forward with Moody to load Collapsible C, also on the starboard side. Ismay, the pompous fool, was been doing his best to aid him in the endeavor, and, admittedly, he hadn't been doing half-badly in his attempts to help where he could, though there was a strong air of panic about him that was seeping to the other passengers. Because the boat was so far forward, however, there was hardly anyone about; everyone else had already surged aft, looking for the rest of the boats.

"Any more women and children?" Will called, looking around but only seeing the scared faces of men surrounding him. He called over and over, asking for women and children. But there was no one. He turned and saw Hockley standing near the Bridge, this time alone.

"They're all aboard, Mr. Murdoch!" Ismay announced.

"Anyone else, then?" The men hurried to board the boat, and Ismay helped them, hurrying them along and helping them step over the side. Will turned and his eyes fell on Hockley, who stood with his bodyguard just behind him.

"Have you found her?" he asked, begging the bastard to say "yes," that he had convinced his stubborn little girl to get away from this sinking ship.

Hockley had stared at Will for just one moment longer before turning and storming across the Bridge to port, just as Boxhall released another rocket. Will shook his head and turned back to the boat, which was now partly full with a few women and more men. He looked to his left and ordered, "Prepare to lower!" as he held out his arms to guide them.

But as he looked back toward the boat, he froze. Ismay had crossed over the side and taken a seat. He had every right, of course, to board a boat just as anyone else did… but to abandon his own ship when well over a thousand passengers, including women and children, remained? It was disgusting. If Will made it through this by some miracle, he would punch the bastard in the face.

"Take them down," Will said at last.

Only three boats remained—one on this side and two, or perhaps only one, on the other, both on the roof of the officers' quarters.

"Listen," Will said suddenly, looking at Moody again, keeping his voice low as the crewmen continued to lower the collapsible. "I've no right to ask this of you, and you're free to decline. But I would like for you to go find her—I'm going to finish loading here. If I find her and you're not there, she won't listen to me. Will you look for her on the port side?"

Will wasn't sure if he was accepting the lad to decline or not. He himself felt guilty for even suggesting that Moody abandon his post to find his daughter, but he was desperate. He had spent over two hours dedicating himself to saving as many passengers as possible. How could he not do whatever it took to save his own child?

But, to his surprise, Moody looked relieved. Indeed, he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment, before nodding.

"Yes, sir," he said shortly. "I'll find her. Thank you."

* * *

 _James is safe, James is safe, James is safe_. That was all Cate could do to keep herself from falling to her knees on the Boat Deck: mentally repeating this mantra. But she could not make herself believe it enough to board a boat herself, nor was it enough to make her leave her father. But if James was safe, then… that was almost enough. Almost. Not quite.

Time was running out. Quickly. Most of the passengers were struggling against gravity to the stern, trying to escape the waters that were threatening to surround them. The water hadn't yet reached the Boat Deck, but it would soon. They were starting to be able to actively feel the ship slide, taking them with her as she slipped to her watery grave, and they fought back. She stood where she was, though, waiting to see her father among the crowd. Perhaps she would find him and they could die together. He would still try to save her, she knew, even with his last breath.

People screamed and cried. They called out to one another. And amid all of it, Cate could hear _Titanic_ dying. Her body was groaning as she was pulled downward, fighting against her death. "Titanic _is a whole world for you to discover, Cate_ ," her Da had said days ago. Now their world was imploding beneath their feet. And there Cate stood, sliding down with _Titanic._ People rushed past her to the remaining boats on the port side. She could hear Lightoller shouting for women and children, though people still crowded and pushed. Lightoller fired his gun as, Cate assumed, as a warning. Yet people still fought for their lives. What else could they do when surrender was not an option?

"Cate!"

Multiple times that evening, Cate had thought she had heard someone calling to her, or thought she had seen Will or James out of the corner of her eye. But it was never anyone she knew, nor one of the two men she most longed to see. She stared blankly at the thick throng of people, feeling oddly out of place. She felt defeated. Lost.

"CATHARINE!"

She turned just in time for James to sweep her into his arms. Their bodies collides as he ran straight for her, taking her and holding her so tightly against him that it was almost painful. Cate clung to him, scarcely daring to believe it was him and yet, at the same time, hopelessly sad that he was still on board. She had missed him so fiercely and searched so desperately for him that evening that a small part of her had begun wondering if she had simply invented him, as if he had evaporated into thin air. But it was he, truly her James, who held her to his body.

"James!" Cate cried, no longer able to keep her sobs at bay. She looked at him through her tears, touching his face to make sure it was really him. "James, James! Where did you go?!"

"Oh, my darling." James kissed her hard on the mouth, neither of them caring if anyone saw. "Why have you not boarded a boat? Why are you still here? Why, Cate?!" Yet in spite of his apparent anger and fear that matched hers, he rained kisses on her face—her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw, before returning to her lips once more. Though they were surrounded by people, none of that mattered any longer.

Cate had never seen him so serious. His face was frantic as he looked at her, and she was startled to see the terror in his eyes.

"I couldn't leave you!" Cate sobbed in between their kisses. "I can't be without you, James, I won't! You or my father!"

"Cate, my love, listen to me," said James, taking her face in his gloved hands. "We need to get to a boat. Your father is loading one of the last two on the other side. We need to go to him now!"

"And you'll come with me?" Cate demanded, holding her ground even as James tried to pull her away.

When he saw how resolute she was, James sighed.

"Yes," he said. He kissed her again, though it was not the same frantic kiss as before, but long and slow. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you more than I can say. If we become separated—"

"James," Cate protested. She didn't want to hear this. She couldn't say goodbye. She couldn't have a conversation of "what if" or "just in case." Throughout most of the evening, she had firmly convinced herself that James had already gotten away. Now that she knew this wasn't the case, she needed to believe that they still had a chance to survive together—all three of them.

"Listen to me, darling," James insisted. "There are two boats left—your father is loading one on the other side. He gave me an order to board a boat the minute I find you, and that's what we're going to go do. But it's not quite so simple any longer… two boats for a thousand people… Love, we may not make it. Or we may be separated."

Cold fear was spreading once more through Cate's body. She had all but given up on the chance of surviving, not if she didn't have Will or James with her, but now there was a chance and it still might be too late. She said nothing, but continued to look at him, her eyes wide.

"If we become separated," James repeated, "I'll do my best to come back to you. We need to believe that we'll make it out of this so we can have that life we've planned."

"What if you can't find me?" Cate whispered. "What if we're too far apart?"

To her surprise, James smiled the dazzling smile that took her breath away. He kissed her once more, sliding his arms around her waist underneath her thick, fur coat.

"Sing our song," he said softly against her lips. " _Scarborough Fair_ , remember? Sing it, and I'll come running. But until then… hold tightly to my hand."

Tears fell freely then from Cate's eyes. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. She had just gotten him… how could she be preparing for the possibility of losing him? But she nodded, sniffing.

James smiled and kissed her on the forehead. He unwound his arms from around her waist and, to her surprise, began pulling off his black, leather gloves.

"Here," he said, taking her hands and putting the gloves on them. "To keep you warm," he explained.

"But what about you?" Cate protested.

He flashed another dazzling smile. "Your mere presence is enough to warm me," he said. He kissed her one last time. "I love you, Cate Murdoch. For the rest of my life."

"I love you, too." Cate wanted to seize him, to cling to him and never let him go. But he had instilled a courage in her that had never before been present: they _would_ make it out of this together. All three of them.

James took her hand, squeezed it once, and took off. They ran through the first class entrance, pushing past people who stood at the railings of the grand staircase, likely having already accepted their fates, and out to the other side. An even thicker mass of people clogged the starboard deck, but James pulled her through. Everyone was shouting and pushing. A child was crying somewhere.

This boat, unlike all the others, was smaller and had been lowered from the roof of the officers' quarters to the Boat Deck itself. A number of crewmen formed a line to keep the frenzied men from breaking their ranks and rushing the boat. And just behind them, the final barrier to the boat, was an officer who pointed his gun threateningly before him. Will.

"Get back!" he was shouting. "Women and children only!"

A man shoved through the crewmen and approached Will, saying something Cate couldn't hear. She could neither see nor hear Will's response, as James held more tightly to her hand and began pulling her through the horde of men. She saw her father sag with relief at the sight of her, and he quickly lowered his gun and pulled her forward.

"Get into the boat," he ordered, looking at her and James. " _Now_! Mr. Moody, I'm putting you in charge!"

"Yes, sir!" James kept a tight hold of Cate's hand and helped to steady her as she stepped from the deck and into the collapsible with its raised, canvas sides. There was already a small number of women aboard, looking fearfully at the crowd of men threatening to overcome them.

"I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me!" Will bellowed "Get back!"

Cate had never seen her father this way, so full of rage and fear. She knew he spoke the truth—he would shoot anyone who tried to get past him and swarm the boat his daughter was in. He would protect her at any cost.

"Will ya give us a chance to live, you limey bastard!" A man wearing a life vest with thick, curly blond hair had stepped forward just enough to remove himself from the crowd.

"Get back!"

"Bastard!"

Cate was surprised to see Cal Hockley push past the man who had yelled, leaning toward Will, looking angry. He said something that Cate couldn't hear and, to further her surprise, Will took a thick bundle of American bills from the pocket of his greatcoat and threw them at Cal's chest, scattering them. Cate was stunned. Where had Will gotten such money? Why had he thrown it at Cal, who now looked equally shocked in addition to his anger? Cate couldn't hear what Will said in response until he yelled, "Get back!" and shoved Cal in the chest, pushing him back into the crowd.

Another man started to climb the ropes that still connected the collapsible to its original perch atop the officers' quarters. Immediately, Will turned and fired. Cate was unable to hold back a scream—had she just witnessed her father kill someone? But Will had aimed high, so high that it was clear it was intentional, just enough to scare the man into falling from the ropes and back to the deck floor.

Cate wanted to leap from the boat and hurry to her father's side. There was nothing she could do, of course, but she simply wanted to be with him in the face of these crazed men who fought so desperately for their own lives. But all she could do was sit in the boat as James, Wilde, and the other crewmen worked to attach the boat to the davits. But water was hurrying toward them, unimpeded. They were running out of time.

There was a scuffle in the crowd, and the Irish man who had yelled was shoved forward. Will reacted quickly, raising his gun and firing it straight up at the sky. The men seemed jolted by the sudden shot, as if they hadn't thought that Will had meant what he had said about shooting the next person who tried to get past him.

"Women and children only!" Wilde shouted, shoving back a cluster of men who tried to push past him to the boat. "Get _back_ , damn you!"

Cate watched James do the same to another man who tried to get through, only to be thrust back into the horde. She wanted more than anything to grab both James and Will and pull them into the boat, but it was no good. There was nothing she could do but watch, standing there in the boat like a fool. Suddenly, she felt herself thrown from the boat as a man jumped in beside her, having climbed up onto the roof of the officers' quarters. His body hit hers, and she was sent toppling to the Boat Deck with a shriek. Immediately, as if he had been electrocuted, Will turned to her, so attuned was he to his daughter's distress. James leapt forward and dragged the man from the boat by his shirt collar.

"Are you alright, lass?" Will asked frantically, as he pulled her gently to her feet.

"I'm fine," said Cate, though she had knocked her shin on the side of the boat as she had gone over it.

"I have a child!" a man in the crowd bellowed. "Please, I have a child!"

"Clear a path here!" Wilde instructed.

Miraculously, the men did so. But Will only had eyes for his daughter.

"Catey—"

"I'm sorry for everything," Cate blurted. "I'm so sorry for fighting with you—"

"Catey, you have nothing to apologize for," said Will quickly. "I love you. I love you more than you can possibly know. You and your sister are absolutely everything to me. You're my whole world. Remember that."

"Da, don't." He was doing it, too. He was trying to say goodbye. Another lump formed in her throat. "We'll make it through this—"

"No matter what happens," Will cut across her, looking at her as he never had before, "remember that, lass. I love you and Lillian so very, very much. You girls have enriched my life and given me meaning, and I am so sorry that I've disappointed you and hurt you. But please never, ever doubt my love for you."

"I never have," Cate whispered through her tears. "I love you, Da."

Any more words that could have been said between the two of them were shattered at the sudden realization that water was rushing at their feet. They turned to see the ocean spilling over the sides of the Boat Deck, rushing toward them at frightening speed. James, who stood on the very edge of the boat's bow, holding onto the falls, shouted,

"Sir!"

Immediately, Will placed his hands on Cate's waist and lifted her easily into the boat. She stumbled, but James was quick to grab her arm and steady her as he leapt from the bow and into the boat itself beside her. Several of the woman still sat, looking around in panic, but the small number of men who had been able to board now stood, watching as the water rushed closer.

"There's no time!" Wilde called in his deep, gruff voice. "Cut those falls! Cut 'em! Cut 'em if you have to!"

There was confusion everywhere. Water was filling the Boat Deck, but the collapsible was firmly tied to the sinking ship, which threatened to take it with her. Several men used small knives to saw through the ropes, but it didn't seem possible to get through all of them in time for the boat to be spared. And all Cate could do was watch, powerless to help as James swung himself onto the side of the boat to try to slice through the thick ropes. And all the while, the water rose higher and higher around them, and people still clamored to climb into the boat. They were floating away from the collapsible's initial position, but there were still several ropes tying it to the ship. As Cate watched, she saw both James and Will climb over the sides of the boat, and she felt her heart leap with a sliver of hope that, even now, they could all make it.

When there was only one rope securing the collapsible to _Titanic_ , Wilde took out his revolver and aimed it expertly. What happened next seemed to pass in slow motion—the bullet hit the rope precisely, severing its hold and releasing the boat that had begun to be dragged down into the abyss. Instantaneously, the collapsible, now buoyant, sprang upwards out of the water and into the air.

The next thing Cate felt was cold as she was thrown from the boat and into the water. It was pain like she had never felt. The cold felt like fire erupting along her skin as she surged downward, kicking pointlessly as she tried in vain to surface. Everything around her was dark. She realized she was panicking, but the very thought only frightened her more. _Why_ couldn't she surface? Where _was_ the surface? Only then did she realize what was impeding her: the thick, fur coat, already heavy, was like a rug that had wrapped around her, trying to strangle her. She did her best to pull herself from its confines, even as she began to grow lightheaded from the lack of air, sliding her arms from the sleeves and, finally, kicking it away from her.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, her head broke the surging water. As she did so, however, the boat swung around and Cate, unaware of how close she was, was struck in the head by its hull. Spots of light flashed in her eyes, and for a moment, she felt herself slip underneath the water again. Pain blossomed in her skull from where it had been hit by the boat, and the world around her seemed to be spinning crazily. She surfaced once more, but quickly slipped below again.

 _This is it_ , Cate thought. Someone else thrashed beside her in the water. _I'm going to die_.

Cate was dimly aware of a pair of strong hands on her waist, pulling her sharply toward the surface. She gasped at the sudden rush of oxygen, but the sting of the air sent waves of nausea and dizziness spinning through her. The person holding her dragged her through the water and toward the boat. Another pair of hands reached down from the collapsible and took Cate's arms, heaving her up from the water and taking her waist as he pulled her over the side. He held tightly to her as he lowered her onto one of the benches.

 _James_ , she thought blearily. But she couldn't make herself speak, nor could her eyes focus enough for her to look upon him. When the warmth of his hands were gone, she begged them silently to return.

A sound like the crack of a whip hitting the water tore through the night. Then another, and another. A loud, metallic groan screamed from somewhere to her left. She looked over to see, through blurred eyes, the forward funnel wobble slightly before slowly falling forward. Cate's eyes were locked on the several people who tried desperately to swim out of its path before it slammed down upon them. She squeezed her eyes shut. Immediately, a gargantuan wave rolled toward them, nearly capsizing the collapsible. Indeed, Cate felt herself slipping until a hand from someone else in the boat grabbed her, steadying her. _Will_.

The wave had pushed the boat even further from the ship. Cate watched, willing herself to focus amid her pain and dizziness, as countless people hurried aft, toward the stern that had risen into the air. Several of the men in the boat were preventing people from climbing aboard, shoving them back into the ocean. Cate wanted to protest, but she could say nothing, do nothing. She could only watch as people died around her.

 _Titanic_ 's lights, already burning an eerie red from their lack of power, dimmed for a moment, shrouding them in momentary darkness. People screamed, but the lights returned, even fainter than before. And still people ran aft. Cate could not even begin to guess how many people she saw running for their lives, screaming in absolute terror, pulling small children along behind them. As the collapsible drifted away from the sinking ship, Cate saw the propellers glinting off the water.

"We've got to get away from the ship!" someone in the collapsible shouted. "Suction will capsize us!"

The stern rose higher. Screams tore through the air. Cate wanted to clap her hands over her ears, but she couldn't make herself do it. So she watched and listened in horror. The men in the boat were trying desperately to pull the boat away from _Titanic_. The cables of the second funnel snapped, just as the first, and the funnel itself rolled to the side, smashing onto the Boat Deck. Smoke rose into the air. Explosions sounded from deep within the ship as everything, even the boilers, slid from their place—cabinets, and beds, and chairs, and tables. People struggled to cling to something, anything, before sliding down the entire length of the Boat Deck and into the water.

Then, all at once, the ship's lights flickered and died. A new wave of screams rolled through the ship as, it seemed, the entire world was plunged into darkness. A deafening crack split the air. Cate stared hard at the silhouette of the black ship, trying to see what was happening. Another crack, and another. Glass shattering. Earsplitting groans of metal tearing. Cate couldn't suppress a scream as the stern of the ship tore from the bow, the great _Titanic_ snapping in two with a shower of sparks. The stern sped back down toward the water, sending massive waves rolling back behind it, before rising into the air once more, the bow unwilling to relinquish its hold.

What remained of the ship rose slowly again, pulled down by the bow. The stern rose up, up so that it was almost perpendicular. People clung desperately to the railings, to anything they could find, before losing their grip and falling. Small explosions sounded from the deck with loud hisses as air escaped. Slowly, _Titanic_ rolled partly onto her port side and slipped downward, turning perpendicular once more before, finally, she glided into the water.

 _Titanic_ was gone.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**As always, thanks to everyone for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing. I worked hard to finish this chapter in time to post it today, April 14: the 106th anniversary of the day _Titanic_ hit an iceberg. For me, _Edge_ is more than a fanfiction for the movie; I've been interested in the ship itself for as long as I can remember, and I've worked hard to make sure that _Edge_ remains respectful to all those who were on board the ship, especially First Officer William Murdoch (whose portrayal in the movie, I believe, was particularly unjust) and Sixth Officer James Moody. That said, there will be just one more chapter after this one. Thank you all so much for your support over the past year or so since I posted this (though I began writing it four years ago). Your support means the world to me. -PB**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

 _Monday, April 15, 1912_

The screams. Cate knew she would never forget the sound of the screams of those in the water for the rest of her life. It was unending. She tried to make herself as small as possible sitting there on the hard bench, her arms folded tightly over her abdomen. She had removed James' gloves from her hands, not wanting them to freeze to her skin as they dried. Instead, she held them both tightly in one hand, so tightly that her fingers began to ache, but eventually the pain seemed to fade away with the stabbing of the cold.

Cate had focused so much energy on watching the ship go down that now she felt utterly drained. She wasn't sure if her vision was blurred, as it was too dark to make out anything around her. Men spoke in hushed tones around her as the screams faded slowly away, as if those in the water were falling asleep after a long day. Stars, more stars than she could possibly count, more than she had ever seen before, seemed to dance above her, glittering, sometimes flashing bright, odd colors. Her head throbbed, as if it was about to split open at any moment, and she clamped her jaw shut tightly to prevent herself from crying out.

They couldn't go back—the men in the boat decided it unanimously. "They'll pull us down," one man snapped at a woman's timid suggestion. "And then we'll be no better off than them!" The rescue ship, the one her father had told her was coming, would not arrive in time to pluck everyone from the water. They couldn't be sure that it would arrive in time to rescue even them, those who bobbed along in the boats, stranded in the middle of the north Atlantic. She thought of the strange lights she had seen on the horizon—she had been so sure that it was a ship. What had happened to it? Why had it not come to their rescue?

As the screams quieted, the cold seemed to set into their very bones. Cate's hair was stiff and frozen about her shoulders, and she couldn't keep herself from shivering violently. A child sitting in the arms of the woman beside her sniffled once or twice, and the voices of the men that spoked in hushed tones around her seemed to be oddly garbled. The rocking motion of the boat, coupled with the pain in her head, sent torrents of nausea surging through her, and several times, Cate wondered if she would be sick.

Where were Da and James, she wondered? Were they on the boat with her? Cate couldn't bring herself to look around, to study the faces of those beside her. What if she didn't see them as the world began lightening? She shoved away any cruel whispers in her mind that, if they were there with her, surely one of them would have taken charge of the collapsible, as would be their duty as an officer. But they seemed utterly guideless, floating there in the dark. If they weren't in the boat with her, then where were they? Cate squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to entertain the possibility. They were both alright; they had to be.

They floated there for hours. Cate did her best to stay warm, keeping her arms locked tightly around her and refusing to allow herself to close her eyes for more than a few seconds. What if she couldn't open them again? What if she fell asleep and never woke? She thought of James, her most darling James, and his sweet smile, his gentle touch, his warm skin. Was he there on the boat with her? She pictured his kiss, and she felt a spark of warmth within her, like a candle flickering faintly within her heart. How she loved him. Even now, after everything that had happened, she could not regret leaving Dalbeattie, for it had brought her to the greatest love she had ever known.

Minutes, hours, days—Cate didn't know how long they had been sitting there, floating aimlessly in the ocean. But gradually, the world around them began to lighten. Cate kept her gaze on her knees, unable to bring herself to look around and finally see the faces of the other occupants of the collapsible; she couldn't face it if Will and James were not among them. A sudden shout from someone on the other side of the boat, however, caused her to jerk her head upward—sending a spasm of pain through her skull—to see a rocket igniting the horizon far ahead of them.

"We're saved!" a woman cried joyfully. A few others also exclaimed their relief and excitement, but Cate could only stare. Who was to say the boat wouldn't capsize before they got there?

Ice seemed to surround them, bergs and growlers watching them menacingly from off in the distance, like predators stalking their prey. Several men seized the unused oars and began rowing the boat toward the rocket, a new frenzied energy renewed within them now that their saviors had finally arrived. Cate kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, refusing to look around, refusing to see the absence of her father and fiancé. But with each second that passed, with each slap of the oar hitting the surface of the choppy water, she knew, deep within her, that if they were with her in the boat, they would have made their presence known by now.

It seemed to take them an age to reach the ship, which stood in the distance like a welcoming beacon. The sun rose higher and higher into the sky, and they could see the other nineteen lifeboats scattered about, little black silhouettes floating around them, all heading to the same place as best as they could. Were James and Will on one of those boats? Would they find her once they all boarded the ship?

When they finally pulled up alongside the ship, so much smaller than _Titanic_ had been with its single funnel, the word " _Carpathia_ " emblazoned on the side, a rope ladder was thrown down to them and seized by a man in their collapsible.

"Women and children first," he announced to the lot of them, nodding specifically at the woman beside Cate, who held a little girl bundled tightly in her arms.

It was only then that Cate noticed the man who sat across from her. At first, her mind only registered that this man was familiar, and her heart leapt, hoping desperately that it was Will or James. But it was neither; rather, it was Cal Hockley, who sat with his arms resting on his thighs, his normally sleek dark hair tousled, his suit torn at the arm. Cate couldn't seem to tear her gaze from his, this one familiar man in a sea of the unknown others.

The little girl was pulled up after being placed gently in a large mail sack, followed by the woman, whom Cate assumed was her mother, climbing the ladder after her.

"Now you, miss," said the man who had taken charge, holding out a hand to Cate.

"Be careful," said someone else, his voice thick with a Cockney accent, "she's bleeding."

 _Am I_? Cate thought faintly. As she stood, she stumbled, the world around her suddenly spinning crazily, though the boat was quite solid beneath her feet. It was Cal who caught her, standing and reaching forward to catch her before she fell, holding tightly to her as she struggled to regain her balance. _If Da and James were here_ , a voice whispered softly in her head, _they would be the ones to catch you._

Cal and the other man stood behind Cate as she positioned herself at the ladder. Just placing one foot on the bottom rung seemed to take monumental effort, and she spent ages trying to climb up, waiting for someone behind her to shout at her to hurry, though no one did. When, finally, her head and arms appeared over the side of the ship, two men standing on the Boat Deck were quick to seize her and pull her the rest of the way up, immediately wrapping her in a blanket.

One of _Carpathia_ 's stewards took it upon himself to lead Cate, while the other woman and the child were led off to the area reserved for steerage passengers. He seemed nervous, saying quickly that a number of other people had already been picked up, and how frightening it had been to speed so quickly through icy waters in the dead of night. But Cate managed to tune him out, looking around for some sign of her father and lover. They had to be here somewhere.

"Excuse me," Cate said suddenly, interrupting his babbling. "Might there be a list of survivors that I can see?" She was aware that her words didn't sound quite clear. Perhaps he would think she was drunk.

But the steward frowned. "We're still working on compiling it, miss. It'll be some time before we've finished making the rounds."

He led her to the first class dining saloon, which was already half filled with other survivors, mostly women. Several were crying. Some were lying on their cots, so still that they looked dead. Cate was given a cot near the center of the room, and she lowered herself onto it slowly, feeling pain rush through her head at every moment.

"A doctor will be with you shortly, miss," the steward said as he wrapped a blanket over Cate's shoulders. "Would you like some coffee? Tea? Soup?"

"No," Cate said faintly. _All I want is my father and James_.

She looked around, seeing several people she recognized, but none of the people she wanted to see most: Will, James, Esther… She felt as if she was still sitting in the collapsible, rocking up and down in the choppy ocean, her head spinning dizzily.

"Miss Cate! Miss Cate!"

Cate looked up, startled, to see Esther hurrying towards her, the Chinese sewing box and the teddy bear clutched tightly in her hands. She dropped to the cot, placing the precious items beside her, and seized Cate's hands in her own.

"I was so worried, miss!" Esther cried. Indeed, Cate saw tears glistening in her eyes. Her pretty, dark hair hung loose about her shoulders, and she still wore Cate's violet coat. It seemed a lifetime ago that Cate had insisted she wear it. "I was so frightened that you—"

"I'm sorry I scared you," Cate said quietly, staring at their clasped hands. Relief seemed to flood through her knowing that her maid was save—she had boarded a lifeboat, of course, but who was to say it couldn't have sunk in the middle of the night, unknown to the other boats around them?

"Miss, you're bleeding!" Esther said suddenly, leaping to her feet. "You've blood all in your hair! I'll fetch the doctor at once."

"No, I want to find—"

But Esther had already scurried off. Every time Cate heard footsteps near her, she jerked her head up, convinced she was about see James and Will smiling at her. But it was never them.

A minute or so later, Esther returned, followed by an older man.

"May I have your name, please, miss?" he asked. He was English.

"Catharine Alton," Cate said dully. _Murdoch_ , she wanted to say.

The doctor wrote her name down and, gradually, at his request, Cate told him what had happened: how she had been thrown from the boat, hitting her leg, and how she had been hit in the head by the collapsible as she surfaced. He examined the wound on her head, as well as her eyes and ears, and her arms and legs.

"Well," he said at last, putting away his stethoscope, "I do believe this will need stitches, Miss Alton, though you're quite lucky the wound is not worse. You should keep your hair down for the time being. Where did you say is your destination?"

But his words did little to console her. She didn't feel lucky at all.

"Philadelphia," said Esther when Cate did not respond.

The doctor nodded. "Have your physician there take a look at the injury and then they will remove the stitches after several days."

He worked slowly and methodically. All the while, Cate stared blankly at the floor of the saloon, her mind screaming at her to find James and Will. It was only after he left that Esther told her the whole right side of her hair was covered in dried blood, though the doctor had cleaned some of it in his search for the gash itself. Esther urged Cate to lie down and try to rest, even if she couldn't sleep, but Cate couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw James' and Will's faces floating agonizingly in her mind. Where were they? She knew they wouldn't go to the dining saloon with the passengers, but rather to the Bridge with _Carpathia_ 's crew. They would know she wasn't allowed there, so why had they not come searching for her?

Gradually, more and more passengers filtered into the dining saloon, all first class. Ruth Dewitt Bukater supported by Margaret Brown, with Rose nowhere in sight. Helen Newsom and her family. The Ryersons. Berthe Mayné. Cate remembered what Quigg had requested of her, but she couldn't make herself go to Berthe, couldn't make herself speak to anyone but Esther.

After an hour or so of sitting there, with Esther fretting and asking nervously if Cate needed anything, the last passengers entered the saloon. Cate's heart pounded, which made her head ache even worse, as she rose to her feet. Her palms were sweating, and she felt ready to pass out, but she knew she couldn't wait any longer.

"I'm going to the Bridge," she told Esther quietly, "to look for my father and James."

A frigid wind blew about the Boat Deck, and the moment Cate stepped outside, she wanted to return indoors. But she knew she couldn't sit there waiting in the dining saloon for someone to come find her or for someone to bring her a list of survivors. Will and James would be too busy to come looking for her, so she needed to go find them. Esther had offered to accompany her, but Cate knew she wanted to go to the Bridge alone, to face whatever might happen on her own.

Luckily, finding the Bridge on board a strange ship was fairly simple: head forward until she could go no further. As she walked, goose bumps erupted along her arms, and she realized she had left her blanket back in the saloon. All she had with her were James' gloves, still clutched tightly in her right hand, like some sort of lucky charm or security blanket, as if they would protect her from whatever was to come.

 _Be brave_ , Cate told herself. She remembered walking up to the Bridge of _Titanic_ , that beautiful, slain ship, over a week ago before she had set sail, with Will. " _The Bridge? But_ _… are you sure that's appropriate, Da, me being a passenger and all_?" she had said nervously. But her father had patted her hand and assured her that the skipper had given his permission for her to be there. Indeed, she had continued to go to the Bridge numerous times with no difficulty. But this was different—a different ship and a different crew. She would not be allowed. But she couldn't allow that to stop her from finding the two men she loved most in the world.

As on _Titanic_ , a white gate separated the Boat Deck from the Bridge, a sign reading "Crew Only" barring her path. But, swallowing her fear, she pushed through it, latched it behind her, and continued on her way. With each step, her heart seemed to pound harder and harder. How could she face this? How could she do it.

 _They_ _'re alright_ , Cate told herself firmly. _Da and James are there waiting for me. Everything is going to be just fine_.

"Remember when _Titanic_ sank?" Cate and James would say to each other years down the road, long after they had been married. It would be a scary event for them to remember, but they would get through it together. All three of them, this event that would bind them.

When she reached the Bridge, Cate paused, taking a long breath. She knew she looked ghastly with a torn dress and blood in her hair and on her face, but she couldn't wait until she was cleaned up. She had to know. And so, with that resolution in mind, she rounded the corner.

The Bridge was achingly similar to _Titanic_ 's, with a large wheel in the center and officers grouped together, talking. Most, of course, Cate didn't recognize, but there were faces she remembered, men she knew. Mr. Lightoller, Mr. Boxhall, Mr. Pitman, Mr. Lowe. When she entered the Bridge, they all turned to look at her. Cate studied each of their faces, going down the line of officers. Mr. Lightoller, Mr. Boxhall, Mr. Pitman, Mr. Lowe. _Carpathia_ 's officers.

Cate could feel herself shaking. Her heart felt like it was going to fall from her chest. She scanned their faces once more. Lightoller, Boxhall, Pitman—

"Miss Alton," Mr. Lowe said slowly.

 _No, no, no, no_. This couldn't be. This couldn't be happening. Will and James were just around the corner, or they were looking for her in the saloon.

While _Carpathia_ 's officers looked confused, Cate could see sadness and—sympathy?—on the faces of _Titanic_ 's. Mr. Lowe walked toward her, frowning. Automatically, Cate backed away from what she knew was coming, what she knew Mr. Lowe was going to say to her.

It hadn't been James who had pulled her into the lifeboat.

It hadn't been Will who had steadied her.

It never would be again.

A painful lump formed in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Mr. Lowe held out his hand.

"Miss Alton, come with—"

" _No!_ " Cate said sharply, pulling away from him. "Tell me where they are, Mr. Lowe! T-Tell me where—"

"They didn't make it," said Lowe, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something broke inside her then. Cate felt her knees buckle and hit the deck floor. A wail rose and exploded from her, an inhuman sound that she barely recognized as her own voice. Lowe was kneeling beside her, saying words she couldn't hear, didn't care to hear. Both of them. Will. James. No, it couldn't be possible.

She was screaming. Not James! Not Will! This couldn't be real. She felt Lowe's arms around her, and she tried to pull away, but he was too strong. She wanted to wrench him off of her and throw herself from the ship. She wanted to join them in their graves.

Will.

James.

How could it be possible? How could this be real? How could they be dead? No matter how much she had tried to prepare herself for it, she had never truly believed that they were gone. It was unimaginable. When she and her father had just made up…. When she and James had planned their lives together…. How could they be sleeping underneath the waves, too far to hear her scream for them? How could they have abandoned her like this? How could they have left her behind?


	20. Chapter Twenty

**I want to thank every single person for reading this faithfully over the past two years, whether you discovered it when I first posted it or only recently, whether you've posted a thousand reviews, or only one, or none at all, whether you're a registered member or a guest. This story been in my head for many years, and this iteration has actually been in progress for close to five years. It's mind-blowing to me that I've finished (though there's a _lot_ of editing to be done). I would like to thank, especially, my dear friend Cindy for being a veritable fount of knowledge and my biggest fan - you've always been the push I need. **

**It's always been difficult to express why _Titanic_ is so important to me. It started out as a love for the movie but quickly evolved into a fascination (re: obsession) with the ship itself. I've always felt some sort of inexplicable connection to it and its passengers, and I've always wanted to write some sort of novel about it. Fourteen-ish years later and that's finally come to fruition. There's been many different versions of this story that I've written over the years, but this one is by far my favorite, and I'm so glad to have had you all along for the ride with me.**

 **Though this is the last chapter of _The Edge of the Ocean_ , Cate's story doesn't end here. You'll see her (and others) in the next installment: _The Way Back Home_. I can't make any sort of guarantee as to when the first chapter will be posted, but I'll do my best to post it soon. When I do, I'll posted one last chapter here for those who have subscribed to update alerts for this story - that way you'll be able to find it easily should you want to read it.**

 **Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your continued support has always meant the world to me.**

 **Chapter Twenty**

 _Wednesday, April 17, 1912_

Since that morning on the Bridge of the _Carpathia_ , Cate had not cried. She lay on the bottom bunk of a second class cabin given to her and Esther, her hands folded across her abdomen, holding onto James' gloves.

James.

Each breath was difficult to manage, as if some great weight was sitting on her chest, constricting her lungs. Almost every hour of the day, Esther would return to the cabin to ask her if there was anything she needed, anything she required. Cate could no longer bring herself to respond, could not open her mouth. She knew if she did, the tears and the sobs would escape again, and they would not stop. They would never stop.

She did her best not to think about them. Her father. James. She tried to focus on the humming of the engine, the footsteps out in the corridor, the slamming of a door. But a loud, shrill screaming seemed to echo incessantly in her ears, amplifying the crushing emptiness she felt. It was as if a great hole had been torn from her chest and now the wound was left in the cold, salty air.

They were dead. Gone forever.

How? How could it be possible? Just days… hours… minutes ago, they had been talking, and smiling, and laughing. And alive. They had had so many plans. Cate and James were to marry. Will needed to repair his relationship with Lillian. They were all going to be so blissfully, gloriously happy.

But then they died, and everything had come to a screeching halt. They had left Cate behind, and now she felt trapped in some sort of limbo from which she could not escape.

Cate couldn't quite remember how she had ended up in this particular cabin. Harold Lowe had all but carried her from the Bridge and back to the dining saloon where Esther waited, tears brimming in her eyes. People had stared as the ship's officer tried to console the screaming, wailing young woman. But all Cate could do is cry until her throat was raw, as if screaming would bring them back to her.

The rest of the morning was a blur. Captain Rostron had held a vigil for all those who had been lost, but Cate couldn't make herself attend. So she had sat on the cot, gazing blearily at the floor long after her sobs had quieted and Mr. Lowe had left her alone. Then, suddenly, there she was in a second class cabin.

How could they be dead? They were both so young—thirty-nine and twenty-four. So strong, so brave, so determined to help those around them. Cate had heard numerous times that James, the youngest and most junior officer, would have the most right to board a lifeboat… but he was the only junior officer who hadn't. She couldn't stop anger from swelling within her toward the other junior officers… Pitman, Boxhall, and Lowe… they had taken James' place. James was dead and they were alive. As for Will… he had been so, so close to a lifeboat. Why hadn't he gotten on? Not all of the senior officers had been doomed, as Mr. Boxhall had suggested they would be… Mr. Lightoller, the second officer, had survived.

As Cate lay there, her thoughts drifted like a piece of paper floating through the air. She thought of her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, and her cousins… they would be devastated, Jane and Samuel especially, who had already lost two children. And Lillian. Cate tried not to think of her. Esther had timidly asked if Cate had tried to send Lillian a wireless message, but Cate hadn't been able to bring herself to respond. They would, apparently, be arriving in New York late the following day, anyway. Today, the 17th, should have been _Titanic_ 's arrival. Cate would have kissed James goodbye and walked down the gangway with her father.

Cate had not slept since Esther had awoken her in her cabin on B Deck to tell her that there was some emergency. The doctor had ordered her not to sleep because of her concussion, but the following night, even when she tried, she could not close her eyes without flashes of Will and James appearing in her mind, frozen and lifeless, ice in their hair, eyes open.

Had they suffered? Cate was sure they had, and that only served to make her pain even worse, though that hadn't seemed possible. Of course they had suffered… if they had drowned, or frozen, or been thrown up against something. Cate didn't know why, but she continued to envision these possibilities… picturing James trying to climb into the lifeboat and failing, Will being sucked under as the ship went down, James being crushed by the falling funnel. Each image horrified her more than the first, but her mind seemed intent on torturing her.

And if she wasn't thinking about them, then she thought about everyone else. The thousand or more people who had frozen to death, who had drowned, who had begged fruitlessly for the boats to return and rescue them. Even worse, though, than the screams was how they had slowly faded away until, every once and a while, a weak wail would swell over the wave, occasionally igniting another before, like all the others, quieting until the only sound to be heard was a sniffle from someone in the boat or the water lapping against the hull of the collapsible. Sometimes she could hear someone praying, or begging God to deliver them. But mostly they were all quiet. Swaying. Back and forth, back and forth, like she was still in the boat that was more like a solitary cork drifting about on the waves, crowded against shivering, sniffling people whose sobs seemed to freeze against their lips. It had been a long night. An impossibly long night that seemed like it would never end.

When her back ached from lying still so long, she turned over onto her side, now staring at the opposite side of the room. Suddenly, it wasn't a porcelain wash basin mounted on the wall across from her, but her writing desk with James' hat atop it. A ribbon-backed chair with James' coat draped over it. Their clothes were thrown haphazardly throughout the room. He lay behind her, his breathing slow and even, the intoxicating feel of their skin touching. His arm left from where it had been over her waist, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through her hair. She felt him gently kiss her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. But before he could whisper "I love you," there was a knock on the door.

Cate was jolted back to the present. She was on _Carpathia_. _Titanic_ was gone. James was dead.

The knock came again.

In her mind, she went to answer the door. She was nervous, her heart doing somersaults in her chest. On the other side was a tall man in a pristine officer's uniform, a warm smile on his face. Underneath his hand, streaks of gray peppered his blond hair. Three gold bands circled the cuffs of his sleeves, denoting that he was to be the Chief Officer.

"Catey," he said.

"I've missed you, Da."

Another knock and Will was gone.

"Miss Murdoch?" came a muffled voice from out in the corridor.

It was a man. And judging by how he addressed her, it was one of _Titanic_ 's officers. She wanted to open her mouth and tell him to go away. To leave her be. But she couldn't make herself do anything. Another voice sounded from behind the door, a woman's. The man responded, their words muddled. Then the door opened.

"Miss Cate?" It was Esther. "This gentleman, Mr…."

"Lightoller."

"Mr. Lightoller is here to see you, miss."

If it had been Will and he saw her in such a state, he would have hurried to her side, placing a hand on her cheek and then on her brow to see if her skin felt warm. He would have asked what was the matter, calling the ship's doctor without waiting for an answer.

Esther walked forward timidly. "Can I help you sit, miss?"

Cate knew she needed to sit up. Needed to greet Mr. Lightoller. She needed to be the proper lady she had been brought up to be. Neither Will nor James would want her to disrespect their colleague. So she braced her hands on the mattress and pushed herself up into a sitting position, the act a monumental effort. But she managed it. She watched blearily as Mr. Lightoller entered the room and took a seat on the chair in the corner, pulling it up so he sat across from her.

"I won't ask how you are," he said, his deep, calm voice oddly soothing, "because I know."

Cate didn't look at him. She tried to say "thank you," but no sound came out.

"Nor will I tell you how sorry I am," he continued, "because I expect you'll be hearing quite a lot of that in the months to come. People will tell you that they are very sorry, that they know what you're going through, that you must be strong. But nothing anyone says will make any difference."

 _Then what did you come here to say_? Cate thought dully, though she knew he was right. She remembered such conversations from when her father's brother had died six years ago. Though the pain then had been nothing, _nothing_ compared to this.

"However," said Mr. Lightoller, "I felt the need to come see you, to speak with you one last time before we arrive in New York tomorrow. Miss Murdoch… you were very, very loved."

Cate closed her eyes. No… no, anything but this.

"I can't tell you how many times Will spoke of you and your sister," said Mr. Lightoller. "I don't think he thought of anything else. I wish you could have seen him the day we arrived in Southampton and he knew he was to see you soon… he was beside himself. I thought it so strange and amusing to see a man I knew so well, one who was usually so composed and dignified, almost giddy with excitement. I feel very honored to have been able to work alongside him, not only on _Titanic_ , but also on the _Medic._ He was a very good man, a hard worker, and a dedicated father."

A lump had formed in her throat, but she could not swallow it. It wouldn't dissipate. She pinched the skin between her thumb and forefinger like she had been taught as a little girl, but it was no good. Tears welled up and burned her eyes.

"And Jim…" said Mr. Lightoller when she said nothing, "…he was mad about you. He didn't say much, because he couldn't, but anyone could see it, especially when you came up to the Bridge on Sunday. It was as if everything around him dimmed and he could only see you. Lowe has said that he spoke of almost nothing but you since the moment he met you."

Cate recalled that day so perfectly. It had been chilly, the sky had been gray. The wheel in the center had reminded her of _Peter Pan_. Captain Smith had kissed her hand and smiled at her, speaking of her grandfather. But her attention had been drawn to James, already so attracted to him, pulled toward him like a moth to a flame. Propriety would have demanded that she offer her hand for him to kiss, but instead she had shaken his hand, equals from the moment they meant, not to be divided by rank or class. She had had no idea, then, how their lives would become intertwined over the next coming days. She had had no idea that she would fall in love with him, and risk everything with him, and agree to marry him, and make love to him. Their lives were supposed to be two strings tied together in an unbreakable knot, but his string had frayed and broken, and she was left alone.

"Mr. Lightoller," Cate whispered, hearing the tremor in her voice, "are… are you _quite_ sure that… that they… didn't… didn't make it—" She swallowed. The lump was now painfully lodged in her throat. "M-Maybe they were just… picked up by another boat, or—"

"They've not been picked up, Miss Murdoch," Mr. Lightoller said gently. "All passengers in the boats have been accounted for, including those Mr. Lowe rescued from the water. The S.S. _Californian_ came up alongside us Monday morning, and they went to go look for more survivors and found none. I'm afraid they really are gone."

"But…" She took a shuddering breath. "It's… it's not _possible_. Da has to be there for my sister's wedding in June, a-and J-James and I… we were going to…"

But she couldn't continue. Finally, after days of silent anguish, she broke. She felt the pieces falling through her fingers as images of the future she had lost with James and her father paraded through her mind. James… Will. Will… James. Her fiancé. Her father. How could this possibly be? Mr. Lightoller was there to meet her as she crumpled, unseating himself from the chair and taking her in his arms as she fell forward onto the floor.

* * *

 _Thursday, April 18, 1912_

When _Carpathia_ steamed down the Hudson River toward Pier 54, Cate was in her cabin staring at a photograph of her father. It had been nestled between the very last pages of her diary, where nothing had yet been written, placed there so long ago that Cate could no longer remember doing so. It had slipped from its hiding place when she had dropped the diary, and the sight of her father's face gazing sternly up at her had caused her to burst into tears, curling onto the floor as her body shook with sobs. After two days of not crying at all, now it seemed that that was all she could do. Now, she sat on the edge of the bed, the gloves in one hand and the photograph in the other—all that remained of the life she had almost had.

"Miss Cate," Esther said softly, "It's almost time to disembark."

Cate wasn't ready to step onto solid land and lose this connection she had with people, most of whom she didn't even know. Yesterday, she had finally left the cabin to walk about the Boat Deck, staring grimly out at the ocean she would soon be leaving behind. She had found Berthe in the dining saloon, sitting with a faraway expression upon her beautiful face. With halting French, Cate had told her what Quigg had asked her to say, and when she finished, Berthe had merely nodded.

"Thank you," she had said in heavily accented English.

Quigg Baxter. Rose Dewitt Bukater. Mr. Andrews. Captain Smith. Mr. Ryerson. Mr. Wilde.

Will.

James.

So many people were gone forever. Cate now had the future that had been planned out for her when she was six years old lying before her, after she had thought it had been thrown to the wind. And now that everything had changed, it turned out that absolutely nothing had changed. James was dead, gone forever. They would not marry in two years, the day after her twenty-first birthday. He would not rescue her from the life of a Philadelphia socialite, forbidden from making any decision more serious than her wardrobe.

And _Titanic_ , the floating palace that had brought them together in the first place, was nothing but ruins at the bottom of the ocean, taking over a thousand people with her to her grave. Cate found she mourned the ship as well, its beautiful opulence that she had at first resented, but had then come to love as it had promised her a new life waiting once she docked. But all of that—her future, the ship, Will and James—were gone. How was she supposed to move past this? How was she supposed to continue without her father and her fiancé by her side?

"Miss?" Esther prompted when Cate didn't reply. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes," Cate said at last. "I heard you."

"Might you," Esther began timidly, "might you want to… to put away the gloves, miss? Just for now, so your grandparents don't question you?"

For a moment, Cate felt as if Esther was suggesting she throw the gloves overboard. She tightened her hold on them, her eyes widening, but deep down she knew her maid was right. Of course, Beth's first question would be as to the origin of a pair of man's gloves. She could say they were Will's, but the less explaining she had to do, the better. Now that her future with James was lost, she would keep the secret of her love for him locked away tightly in her heart. She would never speak of him again, not to Lillian, not to Beth, not to anyone. And so, reluctantly, she handed Esther the gloves. Esther managed to hold them just so underneath the Chinese sewing box that they were invisible to anyone who did not look closely.

"Let's go," Cate whispered.

Esther led the way out of the cabin, and Cate followed her down the deserted corridors. On the Boat Deck, rain fell heavily from the dark sky, pouring onto the heads of oblivious survivors who stood looking out at the pier. Flashes came intermittently from tugboats bearing reporters that had chugged up to them, their shouts through megaphones indiscernible. It was only then that Cate realized: the sinking of the RMS _Titanic_ was huge news: impossibly big. The largest ship in the world, rumored to be unsinkable, had sunk on her maiden voyage, taking over a thousand people with her. Cate couldn't make out any of the people on the pier, but she was sure there thousands upon thousands of them, some clamoring to see their loved ones, others just wanting a glimpse of the survivors.

For that was what they all where: they would be branded for life as _Titanic_ Survivors. Cate didn't know how long people would speak of this tragedy… how long it would take for people to begin to forget them and struggle to remember the name of the beautiful ship that had been lost one fateful night in the Atlantic. Cate didn't want to go out into the world where _"Titanic_ " would be whispered around her like a curse, where people would stare at her as she walked down the street, knowing she had survived this tragedy when so many others had not.

Mr. Lightoller had left the day before with the promise that she would be okay, that she would get through this. It was infinitely more painful to see the pity in the eyes of the men who had worked with Will and James, who had spent hours with them in the dead of night, who wore the same uniforms, who survived when they had not. Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, James' closest friend aboard the ship, had all but carried her back to the dining saloon after he had broken the news of Will's and James' deaths, had stayed with her until Esther had assured him that she could handle her.

And it was Fifth Officer Lowe who approached her now, sheltered underneath a large, black umbrella.

"Miss Murdoch," he said, raising his voice ever so slightly to make himself heard above the din of the reporters' shouts and the rain hitting the Boat Deck. "Do you have someone to meet you?"

"I assume so," Cate replied dully, not looking at him. "My grandparents, perhaps, or their chauffeur. Likely the latter."

"Would you like me to escort you off the ship?"

Cate turned her head to face him, finally. His handsome, boyish face was solemn, his dark eyes serious. Why was he concerning himself with her? Because his dead friend had loved her? Because he himself had worked hard to help them be together, to convince her father to step aside? Because he pitied her and didn't want her to take this long walk alone, the walk she should have shared with her father and fiancé?

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Lowe," she said quietly. "You don't owe me anything."

"I know I don't," he replied. "But…" he sighed. "Will and Jim would want to make sure you're taken care of. We're concerned about you—all of us."

As usual, their names felt like individual stabs to her chest. But she didn't want to be taken care of or looked after. She didn't want to see their pity or their sympathy any longer. She didn't ever want to set eyes on that telltale uniform again, thinking of Will looking so smart and so proud, of James standing before her so formally the first time they had met on the Bridge. She never wanted to see a ship's officer again.

"I appreciate that," said Cate, looking away from him again. "But I'm fine, Mr. Lowe. You needn't worry about me."

Mr. Lowe swallowed and nodded shortly. "Write to me," he said at last. "I'd like to know how you get on. Will you do that for me?"

 _No_ , Cate thought immediately. But she didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she nodded. Then, as he kissed her hand and walked away, Cate watching him go, she knew she would never write to him, nor would she see him again. And it would be better that way.

"I can't do this," Cate muttered, so quietly that Esther could scarcely hear her.

"Yes, you can, miss," Esther said firmly. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but I know you can. You're strong."

Her words reminded Cate of one of the last things Quigg Baxter had said to her: " _Mademoiselle, I may not have known you for long, but I know that you are stronger than you think_." Why was it that people seemed to think Cate was as sturdy as a brick wall when, inside, she felt certain that she was shattering into a million pieces? But she knew better than to argue with Esther. Cate was sure she wasn't as strong as people thought she was, but she knew she needed to try… if not for herself, then for Will and James. They would want her to. They would never, ever want her to give up, no matter what happened to them or to her.

Their song. Its melody began to play softly in her head as Cate followed Esther to where the other first class passengers would disembark. James, her beloved James, had told her to sing it, and they would find their way back to one another.

Very softly, under her breath, she began to sing the words that had played in her mind for over a week, since James had first mentioned it. " _Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me to the one who lives there… he once was a true love of mine_."

 **End.**


	21. The Way Back Home

**The newest installment of "The Edge Series" has been posted! If you're interested in seeing how Cate's journey continues, please see my latest addition on profile! It's called "The Way Back Home" - I hope you all like it! -PB**


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